A Beginner at This

So I'm new at this whole blogging thing. I used to scoff at people who had blogs and myspace and facebook and livejournal. Who the fuck cares about you and your boring life full of boring little activities. They think everything they experience is so damn interesting and unique when in reality there are thousands of people experiencing the exact same fucking things. Anyways, I'm a little less bitter now about the whole blogging trend, and even in those times of loathing I always found myself reading some blog about someone's latest meal at Red Lobster or something.

So I decided that I should start my own blog that no one will most likely read unless it accidentally pops up in an obscure google search or something.

Well, I am 20 years old, and at the moment have no life. Really. I just dropped out of college, after three years of fuddling about, switching my major to whatever subject I had read about in yesterday's newpaper that seemed interesting. I had no friends at college, and towards the end of my second year began to attend class less and less, until I got to the point where I would only attend one of each of my classes a week.

I live with my roommate, who I'll call Z., but only for another month and a half. I've known her since middle school, and we get along alright. She got a job about a month ago and I hardly see her anymore, so we're pretty distant at the moment. She is almost the exact opposite of me, driven, outgoing, social, and boy-crazy.

Boys. Well I never really had relationships, until recently (more about that later). Up until that point my longest realtionship had been about four days. And that was because I was on vacation and I just hung out with (and had sex with) the guy for those four days. Other than that it's been only one-nighters for me. Until about five months ago when I met this guy on New Year's Eve. I was following my usual M.O. of meet, bring home, fuck, discard and things seemed to be going according to plan until we got to the fuck part. According to said guy, who I'll refer to as L., he had had a little too much to drink and little L. was in no way, shape, or form going to rise to the occasion. Whatever, I don't like sex that much anyway, so we just went to sleep. I was supposed to visit my mother the next day, so I woke L. up early so I could drive him home. This ritual of driving random guys home was not new to me and my roommate, and the familiarity of it all was comforting. So, I pull up to his complex and then he drops the bomb. "So what's your number?". Fuck fuck fuck. Why does this always happen to me. I give my roommate a questioning look and she half-nods at me, indicating she thinks I should do it. I mull it over for a second, and then remember that L. told me he was a computer science graduate and I was taking computer science that semester, so maybe I could get him to do my homework or something. I recite my cell phone number robotically, and then drive off. Z and I stop at Taco Bell on the way home (also part of the ritual) and that's that.

A week goes by and I have all but forgotten L. Then I get home from my first day of school and I notice I have a text message. From L. A fucking text message? Really? Can't even give me a decent call like a normal fucking human being and not a socially awkward teenager? I text back that my texts aren't free so he needs to call if he wants to talk. Hopefully he takes this as a sign that I'm a fucking bitch and I don't want to be booty-texted. He says he'll call later, and he does. He invites me to a hockey game the next night, and having never been to a hockey game before, I agree to go.

Well a few weeks and a few hockey games later, we're still talking. Odd. I still hadn't slept with him, and he only helped me on one of my assignments. I'm not really sure about the whole situation, as L is 10 years my senior (though oddly naive in so many ways), and I don't really know what I want out of the whole thing. Well two months go by and I finally agree to sleep with him (regrettably), which was lame on my part. For some reason I just can't get into sleeping with someone who I've known for more that a few hours. We hang out 3-4 times a week, not really a couple, but sorta-kinda dating.

Well 5 months goes by and I can tell he just doesn't like me that much, and I can't really blame him. I'm an asshole, I pretend (and do a VERY good job) like I don't give a shit about him or anyone else. I can tell he still likes his ex, whom he dated for two years, and had broken up with a week before I met him (I know, I was the dreaded rebound, and a shitty one at that). Only at this point do I realise I kind of like this guy, though not in a relationship-y way, and I fucked it up. Or maybe I don't really like him at all, but he helped alleviate my seemingly ever-present boredom. Either way, fuck.

After an awkward night of watching a fight at Hooters I call him and ask what's going on. He tells me that he just doesn't like me because he feels like I don't like him, and yadda yadda yadda. Luckily I'm not the dumb bitch some people think I am, and I'm able to see through all these excuses. I know that he wants to end things (that never existed in the first place) because he loves his (less attractive, less intelligent (we're talking IQ of a sea slug here), less emotionally distraught and unstable) ex-girl friend. I just feel sort of empty (apathetic?) after this little talk, in which he also tells me he doesn't even consider me a friend. Oh what-fucking-ever.

Why does everything have to be defined and categorized. Can't people just do what they're doing without over thinking every fucking thing?

I ask him to come over, just to see if he will, and he does. I know it's completely over at this point, and don't really want to think about it because I'm off for the Virgin fucking Islands the next day!

Well after my 7 day absence I come home. I wait for a call from L, you know, just to confirm that I am home safely, but it never comes. I could be floating in the Atlantic ocean missing all my extremities for God's sake. I wait for it the next day...no dice. Finally the next evening I call him to see what's going on, but he doesn't answer. Shit. This fucker doesn't even give a shit about me. Oh well. I haven't talked to him since.

So, I only have one thing left to talk about, and that's work. Right now it doesn't exist. I'm living off savings. Savings I earned by dancing. Naked. Yup. So I quit about a month and a half ago for some stupid reason and sort of regret it. I'm in the process of getting a job now though, because the money is running out. In matter-of-fact, I called a titty bar earlier today and they're hiring so I'll head in later this week, once this herpes blister gets the fuck off my face.

I've written a fucking novel already, but this is my first post so I had a lot to cover.