Monday, August 13, 2012

Guest post with Tellulah Darling

Please help me welcome Tellulah Darling, the author of Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls!
Colette's Note: I am sorry for the formatting-it is all my fault. Blogger was acting up & I couldn't change it.

I want to apologize I feel like I should write something thoughtful and profound but itʼs summer so instead Iʼm going to tell you a story. I love a good HEA, but as we all know, getting the guy is only the beginning. Once the heady rush wears off, you have to decide to stay together through the banality of daily routine. And if you do that, then you might decide to travel together. A seemingly harmless idea that has left more wrecked relationships than a Kardashian.

So, I present to you, one of the many stories of the first trip my boyfriend and I
took together. It began with a book. Specifically a fat-ass, travel-through-Europe guide book. We convinced ourselves that buying it was the sure-fire guarantee that would set us on our merry way.
Reality, however, decided differently. Six months, two books and zero trips later, I bought book three. The charm. "Maybe next year," the boyfriend suggested. Travel to Europe when you are flat broke, working in the arts, paying off massive student loans and in need of a billion more practical things, really was a grand idea. He just didn't realize it yet. “Sure," I lied. And bought the tickets.

Finally the big day arrived and we headed off with a smile. The smiling soon
stopped. First the plane was delayed. Okay, this was a common scenario. When we did get on, we discovered that the seats were narrower that usual. This meant that my recently-hit-by-a-car boyfriend was forced to spend the entire 10 hour flight with his knees somewhere around his chest. Being much shorter, the seat arrangement didn't bother me. I was too busy swigging cough medicine and popping cough drops every ten minutes, in a desperate attempt to get my sense of smell back. In addition, the air conditioning was furiously pumping freezing cold, recycled air throughout the cabin. The man next to us kept trying to shift away slightly. Not that I could blame him, between my boyfriend muttering curses in Italian and me snorting loudly as I tried to clear a nasal passage. We couldn't have been the best companions.

It wasn't long before our stash of Gravol was broken into. I was a little worried
about this, since the feature was coming on, and I could barely keep my eyes open through the lovely half-hour program on The Flowers of Holland. It turned out to be for the best, when I discovered that our inflight movie was Benji the Hunted (fly via pseudolegit airline, you get the entertainment you pay for). I manged to figure out most of the plot despite a lengthy nap, but Benji and our flight eventually ended and we were in beautiful Amsterdam. Except for the rain. And my now pretzel-shaped boyfriend.

Dutifully, our entire flight trundled down to the customs area, where there were no passengers. In fact the whole place seemed curiously deserted. Our initial excitement at not having to battle any line ups turned to fear when our luggage failed to appear. There were several announcements about what had happened to our luggage, but not only were they in Dutch, the announcer must have had a cloth over the speaker phone as she talked. It was only by shamelessly eavesdropping on a tour group that we found out that the plane door was in fact stuck and all our luggage was inside. We sat down on the baggage carrier and waited. And waited. Did I mention that my boyfriend was hypoglycemic and the fate of our relationship was now hanging off a day old muffin from a coffee kiosk being able to stabilize him?

It took them half an hour to open the door of the plane, by which time two other
international flights had landed. This would not have been a problem except the powers that be decided that only our carousel would be used for all luggage, regardless of the fact that about ten others stood unused right next to us. After another half hour, our backpacks bumped their way down the belt and we elbowed our way over to them. After that, customs was a breeze, and we were truly on our way. Our first stop was supposed to be with his relatives in Belgium, which meant figuring out which train to take and another four hours of travelling. We found the correct train and settled in to rest. I was beginning to get cocky again. "See how easy this is," I sniffled through my kleenex. The boyfriend nodded, seeming to finally get into it all and promptly went to sleep. Four hours later we were in Maastricht, on the Dutch/Belgian border. Weʼd been instructed to then grab the train to Liege. The ride is only about 20 minutes, but there are four train stations. I asked the conductor where the main station was and he said three stops. So when the third stop came up, we jumped off.

The utter desolation and general apocalypse vibe of the station was clue one that
this was not where we were supposed to be. Cautiously, we made our way into the small main terminal. We went up to the train schedule to see when the next train came through, only to discover that the schedule covered a time period ending yesterday. Had it been yesterday, the last train would have happened an hour ago.Turning around, I saw a small cafe and went in to ask if the main train station was far away.

 As we passed through the doors, the patrons looked up at us as if we were to be the next special of the day. "Ho boy," muttered the boyfriend. "Excuse me," I asked (thinking how fortunate it was that I spoke French), "can you tell me how to get to the main train station?" The waitress shrugged. I decided to try a different tactic. I told the boyfriend to call his aunt and see if his uncle could pick us up here. That was an impossiblilty because his uncle was at the main station so we would have to go there and why were we here anyway? Next plan. Taxi. I looked around for a phone book. No luck. "Stay here," I instructed the boyfriend and went back into the cafe. Once again the patrons looked at me hungrily. I tried to look unappetizing as the waitress wrote down the cab number for me. "Now we're in business." I dialed and some man answered. I told him the station we were at and asked if we could get a taxi. He put me on hold and then disconnected me. I was starting to get a bit frazzled by this point but I called again. The same man answered and again I asked for a taxi. He asked for the address. I explained it was the train station in ----. He said he needed an address. The train station name was the address. The man yelled at me that that was not an address and he couldn't send anyone over. I begged him, insisting that it was an address and I had just arrived in the country so don't yell. He continued to yell. Then hung up on me.

The boyfriend took one look at my face and put his arm around me. Another train had to come through here eventually. We walked, downcast, out to the hut on the single platform between the two sets of tracks. All the glass had been smashed out of its windows. As we put down our packs and sat down on the glass-shard-glistening concrete, it began to rain. I started to cry. "I'm tired and sick and I want to go home."Thankfully he did not say "I told you so."
I married that guy. So while the HEA may be the end of some stories, itʼs only the beginning of the others. Hereʼs hoping Sam and Ally find theirs in Sam Cruzʼs Infallible Guide to Getting Girls. And that you find yours.
To lovely love,
Tellulah Darling

 Where to find the author:  Goodreads | Twitter | Website

Title: Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls
Genre: New Adult/Contemporary Romance
Author: Tellulah Darling 
Release Date: October 7th, 2012

 Why the hell can’t chicks be more like guys?
 That question plagues high school senior Sam Cruz. Sam is perfectly happy being a player. He just wishes girls wouldn’t change the game from sex to relationships. It makes him look like an asshole. But when Sam’s best friend, Ally Klinger, gets dumped, she begs him to transform her into someone who can screw around then screw off. No risk of heartbreak that way. It’s Sam’s chance to create the perfect female AND cheer up his best friend. Armed with Sam’s Three Step Guide to Backseat Success, Ally gets the game better than Sam thought she would and before long, Sam has his wish: the female version of himself. Too bad it’s driving him nuts. Told from Sam’s and Ally's alternating POVs, Sam Cruz’s Infallible Guide to Getting Girls is a fast-paced romantic comedy that follows these teens as they navigate the minefield of sex, love, and friendship.  This book contains strong language, drinking, euphemisms, and lots of “bow ch 
chicka wow.