Mega-talented author and pal, A.F. Stewart is throwing her annual VD shindig (Valentine’s Day, you bastards) and I’ve been invited to share a little madness and get in on the topic of Bad Bad Love.
Head over to ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK to meet some of the other Dark Lovelies involved (including many of the usual suspects, like Amy K. Marshall, Nina D’Arcangela, Clarissa Johal, Barbara Custer and Chris Verstraete)
Though you should be sure to check out ALL of the players!
As usual, I am running like a decapitated chicken ass-backwards through an endless maze of crazed convolution, so bear with me. I will be back later with a new poem, an extraction from this months ASAM (geared especially towards “Women in Horror Month”) and giving away a few e-book copies of Hot Sinatra and the EXCLUSIVE only-get-it-here companion collection Deconstructing Moss (which is as goddamned romantic as you can get).
Speaking of Women in Horror month, check out this list on The Examiner of top Female Horror Writers (including a ton of friends and colleagues like The McHugh and the aforementioned D’Arcangela, as well as Carole Gill, Mercedes Yardley, Leigh M. Lane, Lori Lopez and the incredible Billie Sue Mosiman. My list would include C.W. LaSart, Red Tash and the incomparable Amy Marshall, but that’s me 😉
So until I return, why not drop me a little anecdote about your WORST date, WORST V-Day or WORST anti-love connection.
SIX of you are going to WIN BIG!
Got How? 
My absolutely worst Valentine’s ever was the typical grade school fiasco. I think I was 12. I don’t know how it’s done in school today, but back in the day, classmates put valentines in a big box at the front of the room. After lunch moms brought punch and cupcakes. The teacher opened the box and distributed the contents. Everyone in the class, except me, got valentines. I went home crying.
That sucks. Those stories always break my heart because, at that age, it isn’t even about love or romance, it’s just about peer acceptance and kids egos are so fragile and valuable. Know that 12 year-old me would have been sure to give you one. 😉
Ahhh… the worst ‘date’ story. Okay, this is many years ago, and my future husband and I had been dating for less than a year. We’re headed out to dinner basking in the glow of post-coital bliss when we see red and blue lights flashing behind us (this is after we’ve dressed, left the bedroom, and are already in the car). Turns out the registration renewal on my car was ‘lost in the mail’ according to DMV (Division of Motor Vehicles down here), and the plate number was called in. No big, right? Wrong. I’ll set the scene, tell the tale, and you can decide how the evening devolved from there…
I’m 21 yrs old, and pardon me for saying so, but spanking hot in an electric blue latex mini dress. I’m sporting a pair of REAL heels from The Little Shoe Box in London, and done up to the nines to impress said future husband. Sounds good so far, I know. But earlier that week, at work, a metal rod fell from the wall and happened to crack me just below the eye, so I’m also sporting a shiner. And aforementioned future hubbie is a big guy, big enough to make a policeman rest his hand on the butt of his pistol when leaning in the car window. A short conversation between the two of them ensues after which the officer deems the hubs not a threat. He then leans down further and takes a good look at me. His hand goes back to the butt of the pistol, and he asks, “Is everything alright, Ma’am?” I’m clueless, I answer yeah with a shrug. He repeats (stringently) “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT, Ma’am?” Hmmm…. something isn’t clicking here – then it hits me, I’m dressed like I’m for hire and have a black eye (plus massive 80’s hair – but that’s another story). I assure him that everything is fine, that there was an accident at work resulting in my facial bruising, and my outfit is a style choice not a uniform. He seems reasonable, but asks that we both step out of the vehicle anyway. Brrrr….
Okay, so do as the nice officer asks and all will be fine, right? That’s what the T-shirts say… Ha! We all step onto the curb and safely out of traffic before the policeman asks if there is any reason to search the trunk of the vehicle. I reply, “No sir, it’s just regular car stuff in there.” Again, he seems relatively satisfied. Then he takes a look at the future husband-of-the-year (who is doing a slow burn by now clenched jaw, face bright red, posture exceedingly aggressive) and notices he has a small bag in his hand. Reasonably and somewhat affably, the cop asks what should be a simple question. “You don’t have a gun in there, do you?” – the guy is obviously joking and starting to lighten up a bit. Then it happens…. and here is where the ‘worst date ever’ part comes in. In all his brilliance and wisdom, my (usually sweet-as-can-be) guy answers, “No, if I did, I would have shot you by now.”
Seriously, you can’t make this kind of stuff up! Following that comment, the entire car is searched; impounded; a minimum of 4 tickets have been issued to each of us individually (one of mine is for ‘Indecent Exposure in Public’); and the cop won’t give us a ride to a phone to call for help – he leaves us standing on a main residential street. We walk a minimum of 8 blocks to a bar to call the only person close enough to pick us up in a reasonable time frame – my mother.
Wait – it actually gets worse than all that… she shows up with my two young nieces in the back seat of the car. So, yup, there I am in a rubber mini dress, wearing 5″ spiked heels and a ton of make-up, sandwiched between a 6 year old and a seven year old. The seven year old is assessing my black eye wondering how it came to be (she’s always been very considerate that way); and the 6 year old is rubbing her hand on latex dress saying, “This stuff is shiny. What is it?”
The phrase ‘kill me now’ was made for moments like that, and the subsequent barrage of questions that I was forced to endure during the 20 minute trip home from that point on.
Looking back it all seems very funny, but at the time…
Thank you for letting me ramble my exceedingly long ramble on your blog, but you just can’t cheat the details on a story like this one! I’ll be back in a bit to look for your poem!
Happy Bleeding Hearts Day! 😉
That story is incroyiblay!
And every word the truth… If only my fiction was THAT good! lol 😉
My date showed up with his Mother! First & last date. Way too creepy.
Creepy indeed!