[OceanEyes28]

“Of course I like a good story. What I don’t like is when people insist on explaining all the hidden meanings to me as if I weren’t capable of doing it on my own. I hate that, and you do it all the time.”

He looked hurt. Quite frankly, I didn’t care. What did he expect after being so obnoxious? To be honest, I was ready to give up on the whole thing. I didn’t think I even liked him anymore.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it bothered you.”

“Yes you did. And don’t apologize, just stop doing it. You know, I really am a bitch to you, why don’t you say something about it?”

“You’re not a bitch; you just speak your mind.”

“No. I’m a bitch. Don’t you ever get tired of letting me walk all over you?”

“I find you assertive… you get what you want. I don’t think you walk all over me.”

“I do. And if you’re not tired of it, I am. If we hadn’t already done it, I’d swear you didn’t have a penis.”

“That’s low.”

“Do something about it.”

“I don’t think we should go to dinner tomorrow…”

“I don’t think we should go to dinner ever.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think it’s pretty clear by now. We’re breaking up.”

“What?! Liz, you can’t be serious!”

“Can. Am. I’ve figured out that you annoy me, and I want to break up.”

And then he started crying. Jesus Christ.

“I… I…”

“I’ll catch you later.”

Long story short, I hate relationships. In fact, I think it’s best if people gave up on the whole process. I wouldn’t say that I’m bitter—just educated. You see, I’ve been in several relationships, and none of them are any fun after the first two months. Then for the next several months or maybe the next year, you’re stuck with this… person who drives you crazy, and not in that good sexy way. They suck, you hate them, but for some reason, you feel obligated to hang around. People say to me, “You just haven’t met the right person yet.” **** that. There is not some person out there who is exactly right for me. We might get along, but then we’d get to know each other and discover that we’re too much alike. He would be a real asshole. Too much in common. Goddamnit. You’ve let me get up on my soap box. Stop me next time.

I’m Liz—Lizzy—Lizorama Extravaganza. And I’m a great lay.

So here’s how this story starts. I woke up on some Tuesday morning thinking, “Jesus, it still feels like ****ing Monday.” I thought that for the obvious reason that I had taken Monday off. I did that to avoid waking up and thinking, “****.” I love when things don’t work out as I planned. I know what you’re thinking. “You can take the day off in college?” When you’ve worked your damn ass off you can. Not because of any rule, but because you’ve earned it. Actually, I took days off back in highschool senior year when I didn't do shit, so my point has no validity. You’ll get over it. I’m missing my original point now. The point is I woke up feeling like shit.

My roommate was already off on her morning jog. She’s damn crazy. I showered, and picked probably the unsexiest thing I own to wear. I think that if you break up with someone, whether you were the dumper or the dumped, you’re allowed a few days of ugly time before you have to worry about being desirable again. So here I was, walking to my first class, looking like a bitch on the rag, when this asshole runs into me on his ****ing scooter.

“Hey! Watch it, asshat, I could have been pregnant!”

I wouldn’t say that the look on his face was the look of someone who cared; but he did seem startled. Good for him. I hated him. What makes this worse is that you’ll see this guy again. Great.

I went to class and got to be bored out of my skull. Lunch break. I had tuna fish, so my breath smelled like vagina for the rest of the day. I am so cute.

I went driving. Dumb idea, me being a college kid with no money and gas being expensive, but I did it anyway. I had the windows down, and the radio up, and it was awesome.

At this point, I’m just spewing information at you. This has nothing to do with the big picture, but that’s true for a lot of things in life. It’s irrelevant, but it happens anyway. Whatever, right? Rock on.

The only reason Tuesday matters is the fact that I got hit with a damn scooter. I remember it as an event now, but back then, I forgot about it by the end of the day.

My microwave calls to me. Dinner’s ready. I’ll continue later.