Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
667 Ways to F*ck Up My Life
ISBN # 978-1-78651-053-2
©Copyright Lucy Woodhull 2016
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright July 2016
Edited by Shannon Combs
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 1.
667 WAYS TO F*CK UP MY LIFE
Lucy Woodhull
Sometimes, there’s nowhere to go but f*ck up…
If you love Broad City and Bridget Jones, you’ll adore Dagmar Kostopoulos…and her colossal fuck-ups.
Twenty-something Dag has always been the ‘perfect’ woman. Responsible, honest to a fault, hard-working. Even her bras are no-nonsense. And for what? Her boyfriend dumps her for being boring, and her boss fires her for not sucking on his nether regions to get promoted. What’s a perfectionist overachiever to do? A complete one-eighty.
To heck with rules—Dag orchestrates a spectacular fall from grace by ruining her life exactly six-hundred-sixty-six times, and finally has a little naughty fun. Some scandalous Spandex and a few bar lies later, tame little Dagmar becomes Giselle, ballsy siren.
The wild thing is…it works! Dag gets a better job and meets the sexiest man she’s ever known. Well, Giselle meets him. Dagmar doesn’t exist. Except that she does, and her escapades just became a ticking time bomb, one that might blow her heart to smithereens.
Join Dag for her irresistible and hilarious fuck-ups, because every good girl needs to inject a little bad girl sizzle into her veins.
Dedication
This book is for every woman who has been taught that perfection is obligatory.
What a load of bullshit.
You are fabulous—warts, burps, trips and all.
Give ‘em hell, my courageous sisters.
And to our beautiful, bad-girl cat Paprika, who left us recently.
Seventeen years ago, we were put in a dank room and interrogated mercilessly in order to adopt you.
Totally worth it.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Broad City: Paper Kite Productions
Spandex: Monsanto Company
Sex and the City: Darren Star Productions, HBO Original Programming, Warner Bros. Television
Ralph Lauren Luxury Oxford: PRL USA Holdings, Inc.
Hugo Boss: Hugo Boss A.G.
Ice Capades: Ice Capades, Inc.
Wheel of Fortune: Merv Griffin
Amazon: Amazon.com, Inc.
Kleenex: Kimberly-Clark Corporation
Netflix: Netflix, Inc.
Formica: The Diller Corporation
Twitter: Twitter, Inc.
Arrested Development: Imagine Television, The Hurwitz Company, 20th Century Fox Television
Diorshow: Christian Dior Couture, S.A
Benetton: Benetton Group S.P.A. Corporation
McDonald’s: McDonald’s Corporation
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Chico’s: Chico’s Brands Investments, Inc.
Penguin Random House: Random House, Inc.
Sephora: Sephora Corporation France
Jedi: Lucasfilm Ltd., The Walt Disney Company
Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries: Every Cloud Productions
Harry Potter: Time Warner Entertainment Company, Books JK Rowling
Google: Google, Inc.
Golden Girls: Witt/Thomas/Harris Productions, Touchstone Television
Banana Republic: Banana Republic, LLC
Amex: American Express Marketing & Development Corp.
Polaroid: Polaroid Corporation
Pagani Zonda: Horacio Pagani S.P.A.
9 to 5: 20th Century Fox
iPhone: Apple Inc.
Disneyland: Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Reddit: Reddit, Inc.
Jabba the Hut: Lucasfilm Ltd., The Walt Disney Company
Twilight: Stephenie Meyer
Mylar: E.I. Du Pont Nemours and Company
Dance Moms: Collins Avenue Entertainment
The X-Files: 20th Century Fox Television
Forever 21: Forever 21, Inc.
Keds: SR Holdings, LLC
Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy: DreamWorks Pictures
Blades of Glory: DreamWorks Pictures, MTV Films, Red Hour, Smart Entertainment
Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby: Columbia Pictures
NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, Inc.
Goodwill: Goodwill Industries International, Inc.
Jawa: Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation
Skype: Microsoft Corporation
The View: Lincoln Square Productions
Victoria’s Secret: V Secret Catalogue, Inc.
Diane Von Furstenberg: Diane Von Furstenberg Studio
Oreo: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.
New York Times: The New York Times Company
Häagen-Dazs: HDIP, Inc.
The Avengers: Marvel Studios
Plinko: Fremantlemedia Operations
YouTube: Google, Inc.
Bridget Jones’s Diary: StudioCanal, Working Title Films, Little Bird
Valium: Hoffman-LaRoche, Inc.
Disney: Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Looney Tunes: Time Warner Entertainment Company
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation
Thor: Paramount Pictures
Austin Powers: New Line Cinema
Frank
enstein: Mary Shelley
Boggle: Hasbro, Inc.
Buzzfeed: Buzzfeed, Inc.
Post-it: 3M Company
James Bond: Ian Fleming, Eon Productions
Waterworld: Universal Pictures
Singin’ in the Rain: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
Craigslist: Craigslist, Inc.
Casper: Seymour Reit and Joe Oriolo
CNN: Cable News Network LP, LLLP Turner Broadcasting Systems, Inc.
Instagram: Instagram, LLC
Game of Thrones: Home Box Office
Sense and Sensibility: Jane Austen
Bridesmaids: Universal Pictures
Ghostbusters: Columbia Pictures
Lufthansa: Deutsche Lufthansa AG
Dumb and Dumber: New Line Cinema
Photoshop: Adobe Systems
Airplane!: Paramount Pictures
Wickham: Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
Titanic: Twentieth Century Fox, Paramount Pictures
In Your Eyes: Peter Gabriel
Say Anything: Twentieth Century Fox
Deep Throat: Bryanston Distributing Company
Chapter One
F*ck-Ups One through Four
Come on, Mel, Let’s Just Give Up
If there’s anything more calamitous than being fired by a scumbag, it’s having to be polite about it. I bit back all manner of choice words, lest a barrage of ‘screw yous’ and ‘blow it out your asses’ smack the venerated editor Carmichael Burns in his florid face. He was the king of choice words, after all. What could I say to him that he hadn’t already spewed across the New York Times bestseller list?
Besides, sweet Dagmar Kostopoulos never, ever used words like that.
“But… But…” I did manage to get out, my mouth as dry as his pretend ennui. “You’re promoting Jazmine into my role? How can that be? I have a Masters in English from Columbia.” And she had a certificate from the Brooklyn Irony Emporium.
Carmichael laughed at my earnestness, as he always did. He pitied me because I actually did my job studiously and worked hard, even as he told me I kept him honest. And why shouldn’t he chuckle? Jazmine had banged this ponytailed ball of pretension the moment she had gotten the job as his secretary, and now she’d ‘earned’ mine as editorial assistant. She wouldn’t know a good nonfiction book platform if it bit her on the butt. She’d let him bite her butt, though. I cracked a mirthless smile at my stupid inner monologue, then sucked in a breath because…horrors—I had just lost my job.
The whole room went hazy. My head spun like water down a toilet bowl.
“You’re too expensive for me, Dag,” declared the man who’d given me a raise not a month ago. “Jazmine has a certain…flair for this work. You don’t need a degree to develop je ne sais quoi.”
I didn’t know je ne sais quoi was French for ‘showed her thong like it was 1998’.
No—I would not be angry at Jazmine. Or her thong, which had been hella cute. We’d both known how to get promoted in Carmichael’s office. Hell, the entire publishing industry understood that you gave head to get ahead with him. She’d been willing to go there, and I hadn’t, for I’d thought my stellar performance would bypass his editing-couch antics.
The blame lay entirely with him.
He who smirked at me anew and said, “I know you’ll land on your feet, Dag. I’m really doing you a favor. You can do so much better than me.” His modesty rang hollow and dull. His last four books had debuted at number one everywhere—tell-alls from globetrotting manly adventurers, over-sexed Instagram stars, and jailed politicians.
“No!” I chirped. I smiled my summa cum laude, brilliant-girl smile. “No. You need me, Carmichael. Promote Jazmine, of course”—that last bit came out a little teeth-grindingly—“but I am an essential part of this team. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to the business of selling books.”
I stood and buttoned my navy blazer. Yup, in a year and a half on the job, I’d found a future bestseller myself from a long-lost Kardashian cousin with a combo sex/Mason jar recipe blog. She made great salads, although I hadn’t ever tried one naked in a hot tub as Khandye had recommended.
He said, “I do.”
I blinked sweetly down at him. “What?”
“I do mind. You’re fired, Dag.”
A thousand rational arguments crowded my brain and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to form them into dynamic sentences that showed, not told, him how absolutely necessary I was.
I—
He—
No. Nope.
This was not happening. Not happening!
“Carmichael—” I blinked and realized he no longer sat in front of me at the rugged desk that used to belong to Ernest Hemingway. He was now perched outside the office on the arm of Jazmine’s chair. Her cackle blew into my ears on a frigid breeze.
Carmichael had called me frigid. He’d grabbed my boob at the Christmas party and called me a frigid slut when I wouldn’t advance my career by screwing him. I’d asked him how one could be both frigid and a slut. Probably a bad move, since he was now firing me four days later.
Rage bubbled through my gut, into my throat, a wave of heat that nearly knocked me over. I clenched my teeth and willed myself to call him what he was. An aging hipster douche sniffing the pretention of his own backside while selling bullshit to the lowest common denominator for only fourteen ninety-five.
Not that it hadn’t been super fun while it lasted.
I couldn’t find the words to defend myself, to talk him out of it. I performed excellently at my job. I’d found talented writers and changed their lives for the better. I’d worked endless hours, putting aside my own personal life in the process.
All for nothing.
I squeezed my eyelids shut as I shuffled past them. Jazmine sing-songed, “Bye, Dag-marred.”
The eyes of the entire floor bored holes into my back while I gathered my purse and coffee mug. Nobody said a word—the Swiss cheese would stand alone.
What the heck did I do now? I’d never gotten a B, much less a pink slip. And my colleagues needed the largesse of Carmichael—they couldn’t afford to anger him or Jazmine now. But Dagmar, well, Dag-marred was literary roadkill, so Don’t let the door smack your backside, darling. I had many friends and amazing colleagues in this building, and I knew we would stay in touch, no matter the manner of my departure. I waved to them all without being able to meet anyone’s eye.
Moments later, I shivered in a gently falling snow, not even remembering the trip down in the elevator from the lofty sixty-third floor. I pulled out my phone and dialed the first number, the tears already bubbling from my face. “I got fired, Blade.”
“I’m in a meeting, babe, I’ll have to call you back. Wear something sexy when I get home—I’ve got great news.” The line went dead.
Snotcicles formed in my nose and I wondered what he’d heard me say. At least one of us had good news. We’d just moved into our first apartment together, and yesterday I’d thought that my life was going perfectly.
Maybe Khandye Kardashian would give me a job stuffing Mason jars with dildos.
I hailed a cab, reconsidered the expense since I’d lost my income, but decided that I would economize another day. Right now I was blubbering on Fifth Avenue while clutching my ‘You Have as Many Hours in a Day as Beyoncé’ mug.
Time to slink home.
* * * *
Four hours later, nose raw and eyes aching from the world’s longest scream-cry-punch-a-pillow fest, I greeted Blade in my only Spandex dress. I’d never actually worn it—my friend Mel had forced me to buy it—because it was just so tight, you know? I could see a rib through it, and I wasn’t really a ‘revealing ribs’ kind of girl. But getting dressed up for no reason had offered a little comfort. It’d been preferable to rage-stroking over Carmichael the @#&%.
Blade picked me up the moment he swept into the apartment and I clung to his wide shoulders and soft blond hair. He was a doctor, just as my dad always wanted, so I had
that going for me, which was nice.
He set me down and said, “Break out the champagne, baby. I’ve got a new job at the hottest plastic surgery practice in Beverly Hills!”
Surprise melted my knees and I nearly collapsed onto the hardwood floor. “What?” When had he applied for this? “What?”
He trotted into the kitchen and I followed behind. With a satisfied smirk, he said, “Got the word this morning. I’m going to be a partner.” Pop went the champagne we’d bought to christen our new place. He drank straight from the bottle. “Sun and fun—no more of this snow shit for me.”
Blade hated the snow so much that I always had to shovel out his car for him.
I leaned against the kitchen counter for support, my stomach regretfully empty from not eating all day. “How stupendous! This is perfect timing.” I laughed and took my swirling head (and the rest of me) to the cabinet to fetch our two champagne glasses. I held them out for him to pour. “Carmichael fired me today. Can you believe that? Fired me to promote Jazmine.” Blade knew how I felt about Jazmine. Even though she wore the best shoes—always tall and vibrant, like she was a Sex and the City character. If I were an SATC character, I’d probably be Miranda’s work ethic.
Blade pulled a face at my news and didn’t pour the champagne. “Guess you shoulda slept with him, huh?”
“Ha ha.” My arms shook as they still held the empty glasses. Man, did I feel queasy. I’d skipped lunch in favor of crying. He took another pull of the booze and still didn’t pour it. I put on my best happy face. “But now it doesn’t matter—we’re moving to L.A.!”
“I’m moving to L.A.”
That queasiness seeped from my stomach to my arms, legs, throat. I opened my mouth to speak but, for the second time today, nothing came out.
He took the champagne bottle past me and into the living room. I took a deep breath. Another. He was just being oblivious, he hadn’t really meant what it sounded like. He could be that way—selfish. But it was because he worked hard to save sick people. From their lumpy noses.
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