Of course I like a good story (Invite only)

[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.

[James D.]

You know that guy in high school? That guy who would always be a jerk to everyone, make fun of you, but get the girl because he was a singer in that band? Yea, you do. Well, that guy is the same now. Except he is a failure. Sure, at 19, you are not a failure if you do not go to college, you drive a semi-new car and you dont live at home. But at 29, he would be the same guy, and nothing to show for it. Not to say he was proud.

Unlike most failures, Isaac realized that he would spend his whole life banging high school cheerleaders until he got too old. And then he would wither away as a Wal-Mart greeter. Sure, the band might make it. Sure, he could hit the lottery. But he didnt want any stock in it. Instead, he would make his own stock. Something. But he couldnt do it now. First, he needed to get his **** out of her ass.

This girl, whoo boy, she was a fun screw. The football team had just won the homecoming game, and as the former King, Isaac was obligated to be here. He caught the eyes of all the girls, and he could of had anyone there. But there was this Freshmen. At least, thats how old she said she was. She could of been 17 if she didnt tell him she wasnt. She was short, and had a baby face, but she had huge, round, wide breasts. These werent big knockers, these were bowling balls. They were bigger than the average girls, and she wore a small top, which exposed her midriff and her black thong, the thong that ran through her beautiful meat buns. Delicious.

She wasnt like that now. She was bent over, her cheerleading skirt flipped over, with her shorts and thong barely pulled off. Besides that, she was fully clothed. She was hunched over, in the back of Isaacs car, and every time he rammed her, her head nudged the glass. She was screaming, screaming louder than that little body should allow. Isaac couldnt take it, he had too much on his mind. While ramming her, he opened the door her head was slamming into, and slammed her out with a pelvic thrust, and she fell drunkenly onto the pavement.

"What the hell is this!?", she screamed, laying on the ground, her bottom covered by the skirt but her pink goodness still showing, as she lay spread eagle on the pavement.

But Isaac did not answer. He closed the door, slamming her big wide ass as she began to get up, and knocking her back down. He locked the doors, and lit up a cigarette. He began to think. Or at least he tried. The bitch was still screaming. So he turned on the radio.

[OceanEyes28]

I met Ethan several months ago at a friend’s party. He was cute—blond hair, freckles, the works. The kind of guy your parents would go crazy over. At first, I didn’t think I would want to pursue anything with him. He wasn’t my type, or something along those lines. That’s bullshit, because I don’t believe in types, but it’s a great excuse. He asked me to dance, and I must say I admired his guts. It had been three months since my last fling, and I was beginning to miss the feel of a hand pressed against my back. I missed being around someone else’s sweat, and I missed the thrill of being chased. Maybe that’s why when he asked if I wanted to do something next Friday, I said sure. We got along all right, and I thought he was a nice guy.

After a month of dating, we became an official couple. A few months after that, we had sex. Yeah, I know. Way to complicate things. It was fun, though. He was somewhat traditional, but he made the first time very romantic. Roses, candles, and he even put a scarf over the lamp in his dorm room. Swoon. He always thought my sarcasm was funny.

Once we had passed that boundary and he had seen me naked, he thought that was it. We were meant to fall in love and someday get married. Yep. That’s how it would work. Except I was never into chick flicks, and this was getting to be more like one every day. He got too attached too quickly, and it turned me off like you wouldn’t believe. I didn’t even like him touching me anymore. It’s interesting. When someone writes you a sappy love letter, your stomach does summersaults, and you get all… fluttery. But once the initial attraction wears off, that same letter will make you sick. You think about it and think about it—all the things that you used to do together and say to one another—and the more you think about it, the more you wish you could take it all back. It’s a disgusting feeling. It’s then that you realize that they wanted you to belong to them, and that the idea repulses you.

So I dumped his possessive ass. The end.

The truth about relationships is that most of them don’t work out like they would in a chick flick or fairytale. Cinderella and Prince Charming fall in love and ride off into the sunset, and the credits fade in. But you never hear about how Prince Charming snored or now Cinderella stole the covers or how Prince Charming cheated on Cinderella with Sleeping Beauty or how Cinderella got a divorce and shot Charming in the face and then got with Snow White’s man. You completely miss that part. False advertising, in my opinion.

Nothing worth noting happened between Tuesday and Friday. I woke up, went to class, went back to sleep, had lunch, went to class… My life is predictable. I got an exam back, and basically, it anally raped me. I decided to spend time at the library, knowing too well that I’d get nothing done, but goddamn, being at the library makes you look great. There I was. Sitting there staring at a book and trying honestly to read it.

“Hey, you’re that girl.”

I looked up. My lips immediately curled into a disgusted smirk. I remembered this kid. “Yeah.” Why the hell are you sitting down? Go away. Don’t talk to me.

“How’s the baby?”

If my eyes were shooting daggers, he was brushing them off like bubbles. I chuckled in that way that people do when they want nothing to do with you and yet, your presence somehow amuses them. Tee hee, I can’t ****ing stand you. I suppose that’s not fair since I didn’t actually know him. But I thought he was a douche anyway. “I scrambled it up with a coat hanger and made an abortion omelet.” And then, having gone way too far, I picked up my things and walked away. However, I did happen to notice that he found me very funny.

I took a walk. And I dared someone to come up to me.

[Lover Boy]

Wow. That poor guy. That poor, clueless guy. Never stood a chance.

Wait! Thats the girl! The one from Music Theory. There weren't too many of them too the class, but something like that is regular for a Music Theory class. Twelve? Fourteen maybe.

But that's not the point. I am loving this girl about now. She's so hateful, its new. I'm sick of these bubbly cheerleaders eith empty heads. Vapid little golems of the future's adult film industry.

I've always been like this, though. I don't know how many times i've had to explain that no matter how nice the person is, that I discriminate against blondes.

But i'm sidetracking myself. Look at this girl. I've got to talk to her. I'm not chasing tail, am I? Am I interested in the fact that this one is obviously a music lover, or is she just another hopeful?

One way to find out, I guess. But what makes me think i've got a chance?
That's right, I don't have a chance. That's whats going to make this fun.

So I grabbed my stuff and started my "persuit". I would talk to this girl if it cost me my dignity and physical pain.

"Hey, you!"

She kept walking. Ignoring? Oblivious? I had to make an ass out of myself to find out.

"You're from my Music Theory class, right? We're going to talk one day. Over coffee, tea, sodaliquorwater whatever. After our next class."

".....And your name? Or will I just call you Mr. Presumptuous?"

"Victor. And then there was an awkward pause, and he kinda just walked away."

And then there was an awkward pause, and I kinda just walked away.

[James D.]

((Alisyn didnt tell me to put this in first person, so now it is. Dont be confused.))

Where am I?

I left that girl last night, and I went driving. Was I drunk, or did I fall asleep at the wheel?

I looked around at my environments. Posters of sub-par alternative bands, psychology books across the floor, and the smell of the cheese of a pizza rotting. What environment is this? Well, it has to be a snobby, dumbass college girl. And then I remembered.

Last night, I drove around. I was kind of drunk, kind of tired, kind of unhappy, and then I parked at a club. It was one of those metrosexual places, and I didnt feel like I fit in. The guys were corny; they thought sex was something you had to talk a girl into. I got even more drunk, and met a nineteen year old. She was sexy. She had a car. She took me to her dorm in her car, and we had drunk sex. And now I am awake, and she is gone, probably at class.

I got out of bed, and I noticed I still had my boxers on, which is weird, considering I usually make sure I take it all off for sex. Must of been real drunk. I slipped on my undies, my pants, my socks and shoes. I see my white T-Shirt on the floor, stained with puke. And my jacket, my 03' High School QB MVP Letterman Jacket, its missing. No shirt, and I need to start my new life today. I went into the girls closet, and nothing was there at all. How can a girl have no clean clothes hanging?

No, that cant be the only clean thing.

In the back of the closet, there was a tiny, pink t Shirt crumpled up in the corner. Unfolded, it says "Boyfriend Out of Town".

Here we go.

I slipped it on, and hurried out of there. It was getting late, and I needed to go. I know the bar isnt far and I can find my car there. Its in the same direction as the Music Major Wing of the University.

[OceanEyes28]

((Oh sure, blame Alisyn.))

****. What is it about today?

Can you really blame me? I mean, Christ, here I was fresh out of a breakup—obviously with the scent of single emanating from my pores—and already I’d been approached twice. Now, I could dwell on how I was not at all desirable and didn’t have it on my to-do list for the next week, but I think you’ve got it. Maybe they were just looking for a friend. ****, I didn’t need friends.

And **** me for asking his name. As if I cared. Cocky bastard. When was my next Music Theory class? I had it. I would make it a priority to sit close to the door so I could make a quick exit. Unless he was a good runner, I was pretty sure I had it all worked out. Hell, I used to run track. I did it because Dad was worried I’d get fat. **** that. Maybe if I got fat I wouldn’t have to sit close to the door to outrun a boy. I’d sit close to the door so I didn’t have to walk as far. Track and the local athletic club’s swim team. What a little athlete. Want to know a secret? I picked those two because they require less coordination. Stick me on a baseball field and I’m ****ed. The only thing I was ever mildly coordinated in was guitar. But then, everyone plays guitar. So I started playing bass. And then that became the sexy thing to do, so you know what I’m saving up for now? Tuba. I’ll rock that shit.

Despite its lack of novelty, the guitar was always cathartic. I had an acoustic up in my room, and I knew exactly what I would do. I would play until I got sleepy, and then I would take a nap. By then, it would be time for lunch and my next class.

Ever feel like shit waking up from a nap? What a waste of a nap. Ending a nap early is as bad as ending sex early. The whole thing so far has been so good, and you’re drooling on your pillow you’re loving it so much. And then it ends abruptly and awkwardly, and your left with a sticky mess (in the nap’s case, I mean the drool).

I woke up with a headache right behind my eyes. I put my pants back on, slipped a white wife beater over my skimpy red spaghetti straps and went to lunch. As much as I enjoy eating out (ha), I don’t do it much. Dormitory food isn’t too bad, and sometimes they serve Gatorade. ****ing headache.

****ing Music Theory. I love that class, but what goddamn timing. As planned, I sat near the door and kept my head down. I made a kickass drawing of a bear popping out of an apple tree.

Class dismissed. See ya, Vic.

[Lover Boy]

She juked me. Wow, I am a LOSER. Oh well, her loss.

So what now? Try again with Music Theory girl, who is still nameless to me?

Or go back to the bimbos? **** that. Sorry penis, i'm raising our standards. From now on we wait for Music Theory girl or equivalent. Something tells me we'll have more of a chance with equivalent. And we're done chasing girls. I'm attractive, you're big enough for these unappreciative girls, from now on they come to us.

But what if no one wants us?

And it was at that time that I decided I needed an even bigger change in my life. I just sent a thought to myself from my penis' point of view. Where is your life going when you think like that?

From now on, you keep your mouth quiet, penis.

So I went back to my dorm, reading the notes people have left me on my cliche little expo board. Harlots galore. Think its too late to get a new dorm?

I smirked at Jame's empty side of the board. I pity and envy him at the same time. So I wanted to help him/destroy him. I walk into the dorm..... where is he? Ahhh. His "room". He sectioned off his bunk and desk like its a kids fort. Kinda cute. In a 6 year old kind of way.

"James, we're going out."
"I'm studying!"
"Thats funny, from the looks of things you were watching porn."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, the dvd player is playing and yet you're watching the news. Also, a bottle of lubricant--you couldn't even try and be discrete and use lotion--is discarded in your dirty laundary."
".....Where do you want to go?"
"Eric is throwing a party tonight."
"What? Why?"
"This is college, they think they don't need reasons. Anyway, Eric said he told Isaac, and that Isaac said that he'd go."
"Ahhhh, the plot thickens. But wait, Isaac isn't the type to follow through with plans. Or remember them. So, whats the big deal about Isaac? Going to hit on him or something?"
"Shut up, I just think that Isaac is a nice change of pace. Specially when i'm stuck with guys like you that "study" all day."
"That hurt."
"Then don't open yourself up like one of my usuals."
"You like your usuals."

Ha. He had me there. I left his little cotton-walled world and grabbed my little blue book. I try not to be too cliche. I tossed it to him.

"You need this."
"What do I do with this?"
"........ Find a random Jessica, and call her."
"Why a Jessica?"
"If you call a Jessica and DON'T get laid, you don't deserve to have a penis.

I'm like the college Dr. Phil!

[OceanEyes28]

You know how I said I have zero coordination? You want a reason to believe me?

I was almost jogging out of Music Theory while I made my escape, but since I was the first out the door, I wasn’t worried about running into anyone. That was dumb. While I craned my neck over my shoulder to see if he was catching up to me, I made an error. I tripped over some guy. Nah, I didn’t trip over him. I tackled him.

“****! Watch where you’re going, bitch!”

“Oh, **** that.” While we were both still on the ground, I hurled my Calculus book at his chest. On second glance, I noticed that his chest was adorned with a pink t-shirt that said, “Boyfriend Out of Town.” A little later, I had a good laugh about the guy dressed as a pre-teen slut.

“What the **** was that?” he screamed.

I got up and picked up my things. “Don’t call me a bitch,” I said simply. “Nice shirt.”

My roommate was already in our room when I got there. She was doing yoga. What the ****….

“Hey, Liz!” she said between breaths.

“Hey, Jessica.” I threw my things on the floor and collapsed on my bed. I had a secret stash of Fruit Roll-Ups beneath my bed, and I really wanted one. But Jessica was not about to see where I had hidden them. She acted like a health freak, but I knew she was the one who stole my last bag of mini-Oreos. Bitch.

“Liz…”

“Huh?”

“Some guy just called me and asked if I wanted to go to this party tonight.”

“Did you tell him to go **** himself?”

“Actually… I said yes. I kind of want to go.”

“Ugh… whatever, do what you want. Just don’t get pregnant.”

“That’s not fair at all. I’m very safe.”

“Uh huh.”

“Anyway, you’re coming with me.”

I laughed at that bitch. I laughed at her, and then I rolled over on my side. She would go to the party with the random jackass who no doubt called her up because her name reeks of slut with a heart of gold (Jessica Price…. Name your price!), and I would stay in my room, play music, and eat Fruit Roll-Ups. ****, I’m such a loser. But I didn’t feel like a party. I went to parties in highschool, and they’re all pretty much the same. I’d only actually gotten hardcore drunk once. I puked all over so-and-so’s bathroom. To my credit, I left the bathtub running under some convoluted logic that such a thing would clean up my mess. Or maybe I was just being mean, I can’t remember.

“Come on, Liz, don’t make me go alone. He said he’s going with a friend, and I’ll be alone with two guys, and who knows, you might like him.”

Get on your knees and beg, bitch.

“Jessica, I just dumped a guy I met at a party. No thank you.”

“Liiiiz, pleeeeaaase.” She’s whining, she’s ****ing whining, I can’t stand her when she whines. “I don’t want to go if you don’t go!”

“Then don’t go, problem solved.”

“I have to!”

“Oh my God…. Jessica!”

“Liz!”

I looked at her, she looked at me. She pleaded, I hoped for a bolt of lightning to strike one of us down so that one way or another I wouldn’t have to go.

“Where are you meeting him?”

“Outside his dorm.”

“Jesus Christ… I’d load you up with pepper spray, but I don’t think you’ll remember how to use it.”

“Does this mean you’re going?”

“No. But I’ll make sure you get to the party all right. Okay?”

“Great! It’ll be fun, you won’t want to leave.”

I buried my head in my pillow again. Surely I had time to take another nap before I had to go. Wrong. Jessica shook me and made me “get ready.” I pretended to put on more eyeliner while she applied blush. I’m not a huge fan of makeup. I can do it, but I feel cleaner with less on. I wasn’t changing out of my wife beater. But I humored Jessica by putting on pinstripe pants. She thought those were cute. She attacked me with mousse, but I threatened to push her out of the window. She backed off, and I wiped strawberry scented mousse off my neck. Ugh. And then she sprayed perfume everywhere, and I left the room.

She found me in the hallway, and we left. I ****ing hate her.

[James D.]

What a bitch.

Anyway, forget that. Today was the beginning of my new life. But what I was going to do, I dont know. All I know is that I am going to Mitchell's house.

See, there is something you got to know about Mitchell. He goes to college, but he is not exactly brilliant. He is about to get his bachelors, but he wont ever use it. Let me see if I can explain it different.

Senior Year, 4-1 District Championship. I had started, and kept it close all night. The whole game was a shootout, almost. They scored on every drive; we scored on every drive, except one, which was an interception taken back for a field goal. We were down by four, and it was third and goal. I had no choice but to run up the middle, and I got three yards, but hit hard. I fumbled the ball, and luckily, my runningback, Mitchell, recovered. On fourth and goal, I handed it off to him and he won us the game. He got the scholarship, not me. That ****ing asshole. But dont worry, we are still friends.

I got to my car and to Mitchells quick, with less snickers and stares than I imagined. I got there, and he was asleep, as usual. The dean made sure all the professors passed the star runningback. I ran into his room, and found my old clothes I kept here in case of an emergency. I slipped on a black t shirt, and went and watched T.V., and I dozed off.

Hey baby, wanna party?

Im in a room, a small bedroom, and that girl that bumped into me is down. On me, that is. But Im not enjoying it. It had all the factors of enjoyment; I had to work hard to get it, she knows what she is doing, and I dont have to do any work. But Im thinking about golf. Who thinks about golf during a blowjob? Then, out of nowhere, she turns into a beast. Not literally, but she starts growing. Her hips start growing, and then her chest starts coming out. She grows so big her clothes rip off of her, and she falls onto the floor, screaming. And a baby comes out. And it looks like me.

You ****ing loser!

"Dude, wake up. There is this wicked party at Isaac's place. Lets go."

[Lover Boy]

Now this I didn't see coming. Maybe I should have, stuff like this happens in movies all the time.

You kinda did too, didn't you? Well then I suppose that saves me a bit of hassle, then.

So I was getting ready (This consisted of dancing around the dorm like an idiot) when I heard the knock. Cut the music, grabbed my tam (I'll take a moment for this. No one, NO ONE knows what a tam is. Remember those hats that got trendy after someone decided Bob Marley was cool because he smoked weed? Well, I wore mine before they knew of his existance), and answered the door.

Ahhh, Jessica, and..... Girl from Music Theory. I HEARD her roll her eyes.

Tough crowd. Okay, okay.... back off a little bit... play is cool, yeah.... she'll warm up to--

"You going to let us in?"

I am so ****ed. And I wish I meant that in the way that I thought about after I said it.

So I let them in. They looked around, and they weren't impressed. Apparently they're used to only the highest quality male dormitories. Not enough empty Cheetos bags, I guess.

"James! It's official, you are girlier than actual women. They're ready and waiting, and you're..."
"Ready!"

"This is going to be interesting."
"I have the feeling you're wrong."

She's witty, i'll give her that.