667 Ways to F*ck Up My Life

by Lucy Woodhull

  Ethel laughed because Yash was laughing. I was laughing because I’d jump out of the window otherwise. I took Ethel firmly by the shoulders and opened the front door. “I’ll be by with that money.”

  I grinned when I closed the door on her.

  317. Which totally made it better

  Mel whooshed out a long breath—her face had become a horrible shade of purple. I had a feeling I resembled a distraught blueberry myself.

  I clutched my racing heart and turned back to Yash. “I have to deal with the pet deposit. How’s Moaning Myrtle?”

  “She’s peeking up over the edge of the box.”

  “Progress!”

  He shrugged. “Why don’t you come in and be with her? Maybe Mel can take the money to your landlady.”

  Yes, that would be a great plan, if Mel lived here. She couldn’t sign my lease addendum.

  I shot a panicked gaze to Mel. She said, her voice full of venom, “Uh… I… I…hate that bitch Ethel!”

  Yash’s eyes went big.

  Mel licked her lips. “Yes. That horrible gold-digging, homewrecker lured my…uncle out of his happy marriage and then ruined his life! I’d own this building myself if it weren’t for that hussy.” Mel turned away, her hands clutched around her stomach. Her shoulders shook. Obviously, she was overwhelmed with the emotion that came with telling such a tale.

  That emotion being laughter, of course.

  My beau backed away from the both of us, which was the only sensible thing for him to do, really. “I’ll… I’ll just…” He licked his lips. “Beer.” He exited into the kitchen.

  I let out a huge breath and Mel flopped onto the wooden chair near the door.

  Mel grinned and whispered, “And the award for best performance by a fake roommate goes to…”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “You will now be scrubbing my oven. I have never cleaned it, and a burning smell happens every time I use it.”

  I put a hitch in my voice. “But I’ll be at your house so much that Moaning Myrtle is going to be a latch key kitty.”

  “You made your cat bed, now lie in it. Get it? Lie?” She slapped her knee.

  I gave her comedy routine a C-minus at best. I asked, “So—how’s the apartment cleansing going?”

  She nodded. “The mail is hidden in your closet—you should open your mail more often.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. Okay, will you please go and watch Yash while I sign the cat papers?”

  “My floors need a serious mopping.”

  “Argh! Okay! You know, the next time you lie horrifically to your boyfriend and expect me to participate in an elaborate, time-wasting ruse, I’m going to charge you cash.”

  “Cash. What a good idea!” She grinned wickedly. “I have a five-hundred-dollar deposit for future shenanigans.”

  “I’m ruined.” I yanked my emergency cash out of the hollow book in my bookcase.

  She sauntered over to me, a maddening smirk on her kisser. “And…boyfriend?”

  Before I could digest that Freudian slip, Yash stuck his head through the door. “Did I hear the word boyfriend? Do you have a secret, Giselle?”

  I froze.

  “Do you have a secret boyfriend?” he continued with a cheeky grin.

  Whew. I grasped at my chest again. This day was going to give me a heart attack.

  318. I had hoped that today I might die of orgasm overload

  “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t,” I said.

  “All right.” He came slowly toward me, that look in his eyes. No, not that one, the good one. The very, very good one.

  319. The one that ended up with me ass over head

  His perfectly executed panther stalk ended right next to me. “Any other secrets, mysterious Giselle?” he whispered into my ear.

  I shivered.

  Mel said, “Oh, barf. I’d rather watch the kitten poop.” She grabbed the litter box and huffed into the kitchen.

  Yash yanked me into his arms. “I thought these people would never leave.” He planted a hot, dirty kiss to my open lips and…and…grrfflsh ajdjdhdhha unnffffff.

  320. Maybe I could write a literary erotic novel

  321. The hero threw the hussy onto the couch and grrfflsh ajdjdhdhha unnffffff-ed her

  When he let my dizzy body up for air, he said against my mouth. “Can I at least be in the running for the boyfriend position? My résumé special skills section is most excellent.”

  Let’s make something perfectly clear:

  322. What I said next wasn’t my fault

  323. It was the hormones released from such good kissing

  324. Such sexy, nasty, sweet kissing

  325. The kind of kissing that kills everyone in a Shakespearean tragedy

  326. It was his perfect butt’s fault

  327. It was the economy’s fault

  328. It was caused by the big bang billions of years ago!

  329. It just plain was not my fault when I said…

  “Yes, please be my boyfriend.”

  A crash sounded from the general area of the kitchen, and I knew Mel had heard. Or maybe God had heard, and he was breaking my collection of Beyoncé coffee mugs to teach me a lesson.

  330. A lesson I’d soon forget

  “Giselle,” Yash said, “you are really starting to drive me crazy.” He picked me clear off the ground and held me to him. I clung to those giant shoulders like a life raft in the Waterworld my life had become.

  331. My life had a forty-two percent rotten rating at rottentomatoes.com

  Mel stuck her head into the room. “You’d better take that cash to Ethel, Giselle. She’s a lying Jezebel getting in over her head, you know.”

  Yash was really starting to regard Mel as if she had a few screws loose.

  332. Ironic, for it was my loose screwing that had gotten us into this situation

  “Yes,” I chirped. “You two play nice,” I told her and only her.

  It took about fifteen minutes to give Ethel the pet deposit, sign the lease addendum, and dodge her highly invasive questions about Yash. Look, I appreciated the fact that she was old and didn’t give a crap about anyone’s opinion, but I still think there’s no age at which “How big is his cock?” is an appropriate question.

  I raced back up to the apartment as fast as the elevator would climb. When I pushed into the kitchen, Moaning Myrtle sat in Mel’s lap swiping at a catnip mouse dangling from two of Yash’s fingers.

  Relieved as all get out, I fell against the kitchen door. And crashed through it straight onto my behind. “Ow!” I yelled, pain jarring from my tailbone through my skull. I rolled onto my side and clutched my butt with my free hand, certain I’d never sit pooperly again. Or properly. Aaaaagh ooohhhhh.

  “Are you okay?” my people asked in unison on either side of me.

  I burst into laughter. “Yes. Oh, hell, that hurts.”

  “Your ass is going to be as black and blue as my shins,” Mel said, rubbing my affected area.

  “Thanks, bestie. It takes a real woman to rub her friend’s butt.”

  “Any time, Jezebel. Whoops, I mispronounced ‘Giselle.’”

  I felt a scratchy, wet spot on my forehead, and I opened my eyes to see Myrtle sitting right in front of my face. Her soft, gray fur fluffed every which way—she looked too adorable to really exist. Kind of like Yash. She licked my forehead again and I giggled. “Thanks, Myrtle, darling.”

  Yash took my hand and helped me to sit up. It hurt, but was bearable. I held out my palm to Myrtle, who sniffed at me and began to lick my fingers.

  Two adult humans in the room said, “Awwwwwwwww.” The third abstained.

  Myrtle allowed me to pick her up, so I collected her into my lap. Her purr was a hoarse, wee motor boat and made us all laugh. My entire being seemed to want to burst with happiness. My best friend at my side. An adorable new companion. And a boyfriend so hot he melted my butter.

  Butter-melter fixed a butter-melting stare on me. He smiled.
I smiled. He asked, “What does the ‘D’ stand for?”

  “What?” I asked.

  He pointed to the wall. Where my giant ‘D’ hung.

  I whipped my head to Mel—Dagmar elimination had been her job!

  Mel whipped her gaze to the cat, and ignored me to pet her, the traitor.

  I said… I said… “It’s Mel’s.” Ha! Take that!

  Yash smiled while he awaited a no doubt colorful explanation.

  My best friend lifted her head and gave me a death stare. At this rate, I would be Mel’s indentured maidservant for the rest of time, and in the grave, I’d have to polish her bones.

  Mel took a long, deep breath. “It stands for…” she said, “for…d-d-d-d…dddddd…Daniel Craig! Yeah, Daniel Craig. Because he’s so hot—he inspires all my fanfic. Which is what I write. Because I’m a writer. Like Giselle told the cat people.”

  “Yup!” I blurted.

  Myrtle leaped from my arms and bolted behind Yash.

  “Help!” Yash blurted while dancing away.

  “Be brave, Yash, and she might not eat you.” Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to run at Yash too.

  And lick him, like Myrtle was now doing to his shoe.

  333. But I didn’t

  Yash turned to Mel. “I’m a writer too. Have you been published?”

  Mel looked askance at me and picked up Myrtle, who was a little storm cloud of loving fluffy wuffy widdle biddle adorableness!

  334. I am killing this crazy cat lady thing

  “Nope, not published,” Mel said. “But I’ll get there someday. I have a popular blog, see…” She took the cat back into the kitchen while loudly hinting that anyone who wanted to grope another person in the house should stay out of the kitchen to do so.

  Yash slid his arms around me from behind. “She couldn’t have possibly meant us?”

  “Of course not. Everyone wants to watch us kiss.”

  He spun me around and pulled me into his hips. He began slowly pumping them against mine, and my brain began to slide out of my ears.

  “Hey, Giselle?” he started.

  “That’s definitely my name.”

  “Will you do me a favor?”

  He brushed his lips across the nape of my neck. I shivered from head to humping hips. “I will do you all the favors.”

  His laugh tickled my collarbone and I died, the end.

  He asked, “Will you put on your air hostess outfit for me? I need to rip it off you.”

  335. “Sure, baby”

  A loud cackling sounded from the kitchen door, and I wondered why Mel was making that obnoxious sound and oh, God, what the hell had I just agreed to do?

  I yanked my head up, knocking my forehead into Yash’s.

  “Fuck!” He stumbled backward into the wall, where a framed picture nearly clocked him on its downward path to the floor. It crashed, Yash crashed, and Mel’s laughter crashed like triumphal cymbals.

  Yash mumbled, “I bit my tonbue.” Now he clutched his forehead and mouth.

  At least he wasn’t thinking sexy thoughts about fake air hostesses anymore.

  “Let’s sit down.” I drew him to the couch and deposited him thereon. “I’ll get you a cold drink—that will help your poor tongue. We can’t have that thing sprained.”

  He flashed me a lopsided grin and I ran to fetch him a soda with ice.

  As soon as the kitchen door swung closed, Mel said, “So when are we going to the Internet café?”

  “Ugh! I forgot all about that. I was too busy—”

  “Lying?”

  “No! I was adopting an unloved pet, like a literal saint.”

  I sat down on the floor next to her and Myrtle. I collected the storm cloud into my lap, where she mewed and purred as long as I stroked her head. My shoulders fell—wow, cats really did help you relax.

  336. No wonder pussies are so popular

  337. These jokes never get old

  “I have to get Yash a cold drink. He bit his tongue.”

  “I thought he was biting your tongue.”

  “He had been until Lady Laughs-a-Lot put in her two cents.” I made a face at her and rose with Myrtle. I put the cat on the counter and got Yash a Coke with ice in it. Myrtle seemed amazed at this new firmament she could explore. I let her pad around while I swigged the rest of Yash’s beer.

  Mel grinned and said, “You’d better get into the living room to babysit your boyfriend.”

  “Yes, I will. But I need to set up the litter box so my apartment—”

  “Our apartment. I’m living here rent-free from now on.”

  “Doesn’t smell like cat piss. I guess I’ll do it in the bathroom off the living room. If I put it in here, she might not be strong enough to push the kitchen door open yet.”

  “I am not setting up the shit box for you, honey.”

  I let out a desperate laugh. “Yeah, I know. Can you take this drink to Yash?” I handed her the Coke and whacked her on the backside to get her going.

  “I’m sending you my hospital bill,” she muttered.

  I followed her into the living room with the litter box in my arms. I’d have to do some major ass-kissing to make up for all this nonsense I was putting Mel through. And we still had to go to the Internet café to check on our other clandestine caper.

  I bit my lip to suppress a giggle—it was kind of fun, really. All this…scheming. I’d gone from the kid who cleaned erasers for extra credit to a roofie-ing strumpet who strung along men. I knew it was wrong—boy, I knew—but it was as if my brain had just snapped. The teenage years I’d spent being a responsible adult had caught up with me. But being an irresponsible rebel when you’re an adult is so much better. There was sex! And booze! My giggle became full-fledged as I carried the plastic poop house into the bathroom.

  My grin still plastered to my face, I returned to the living room to grab Myrtle and show her where to do her business. I found a puzzled-looking Yash, a panicking Mel…

  338. And a Netflix account on the TV that said ‘Dagmar’ in bright white letters

  “Shit!” I said.

  “Nice,” Mel assured me with a thumbs-up. She petted Myrtle, sitting in her lap, and awaited the fallout.

  “Uh, I can explain,” I told Yash.

  His eyebrows rose, and I started breathing so hard, the room started to spin. “It’s…uh… That name… It’s mine.”

  He stood, confusion thundering across his face, chased by the first hint of anger. No. Noooooooo. It couldn’t be over yet! He was the perfect man and oh, God, what was wrong with me? I wasn’t smart enough to be this devious! Giselle? What had I been thinking, creating an alter-ego—

  “That’s it!” I blurted. “That’s it”—I pointed to the screen—“that’s my alter-ego, Dagmar. Dag. That’s my pet name for myself. It’s like…my sexy name. Sometimes I use it on flights with creepy guys, so they don’t know who I really am. Yeah. It’s an inside joke between me and Mel.” I whipped my head to her. “Right, Mel?”

  She started laughing. The cat bolted to the arm of the couch. “Alrightey, Dagmar.”

  Her acting skills were shit.

  339. Mine, however, were amazeballs

  340. Maybe I should be an actress?

  Maybe I should pay attention to Yash, whose mouth hung open. “But,” he said, “Giselle is a pretty sexy name already, yah?”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Much sexier than Dagmar.”

  My smile drooped. “Thanks.”

  “I understand why you’d fib to strange men, though. There can be some really crazy people out there in the dating world.”

  Mel fell off the couch, but she covered it super well by playing with the cat.

  I cleared my throat. “It… It started a long time ago, when I was a teenager. It’s just a silly thing now, but it explains why you’d never see the name Dagmar around me.”

  He lit up. “Like the ‘D’ on the wall! It could mean ‘Dagmar’.”

  “Five points for Yash!”
Mel said, helpfully. “I’m going to use the big girl litter box.” She sauntered off into the bedroom.

  I’d just begun to breathe normally again when Yash came up to me, a photo of my family in his hand.

  What new fresh hell was this?

  He said, “Is this your dad? You look just like him.”

  “Yes. That’s me, my twin Vanessa, and Dad.”

  “Twin?”

  He’d said it the way everyone always had. Incredulous, with a hint of ‘Why don’t you look like her?’

  My teeth gritted, the way they always did. “Yes, she’s the golden child—beautiful, blonde, perfect—and I’m the one they didn’t count on.” I snatched the photo and started walking it back to the bookcase where it lived. Usually face down.

  “What?” Yash fell into step with me. “What does that mean—the one they didn’t count on?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. They both live in Connecticut, so—”

  “No, no.” He gently turned me around. “I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. I don’t see why she’s the beautiful one. You’re the more interesting looking of the two of you, and far prettier.”

  I laughed. He appeared confused. I laughed again.

  “Giselle, you are a lovely woman. Vibrant, sexy. Petite and sumptuous.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “With mesmerizing, mysterious brown eyes that haunt me. Seriously, I had a dream about your sparkling eyes.”

  “Uh…” A stifling wave of heat overcame me, and I backed away. I didn’t know what to say.

  Yash blinked helplessly at me, awaiting my saying something. “Your family…was not kind to you?”

  I shook my head, my mouth dry. “My parents had only wanted one kid, but they got two. They struggled to make ends meet. My dad told me they resented me as the…the interloper. That the blonde, blue-eyed kid with the small nose like Mom was better than the Greek-looking one.”

  His mouth had fallen completely open. “What the fuck? What the… What the fuck? That’s horrifying! Why would he even tell you that?”

  “When he was tipsy at my sister’s wedding, I asked him why he’d treated us differently our whole lives. He just spilled it all.” I stared at the floor and shrugged. “Dad always took pride in his tall, golden daughter, especially after Mom died. Vanessa could do no wrong, and I—”