A/N: English isn't my first language, so by all means feel free to correct typos and language:)

Prologue: Reality is not romantic

JUN 28TH, 20xx 3:45AM

Yesterday there was this huge "5 for 2"-promotion at the video rental where I live. Yay!

... No, not really.

It took me almost an hour to find two movies worth seeing (O Brother Where Art Thou and Amadeus) and by that time I was so fed up that I couldn't be bothered looking for more. Then I stood an agonising 10 min in queue watching two teenagers making out like they were trying to get a Guiness record, and then the moron behind the register refused to rent me anything unless I got the free DVDs I was eligible for. She claimed her boss would fire her if not.

I swear - some people think they need permission to use their brains.

I was anxious to get home so I just told the girl to pick something and stuff it in the bag. My usual Friday routine consists of leftover pasta and a movie marathon; every moment spent in the store was a moment I could've spent gawking at cute 2D hunks. I'm probably sounding like I have no friends, but there's a good reason for that. Fridays are the only days in the week I get the apartment to myself and don't get overruled by ignorants who insist on watching lame reality shows.

Although, by the time I 'd gone through all the DVDs from the store, I'd started to think The Bachelorette might be preferable.

I know - should have turned it off. But you know that unexplicable fascination some people have with the horror genre? Grinning madmen and slamming doors? Yeah. If you think that's scary, you should see the godawful acting and the horrifying dialogue that just had me whimpering on the couch.

"I love you. I love you so much."

"This stubbornness of yours, it's why I fell in love with you."

"I got a real bad feeling about this."

"We'll get out of here. Just me and you."

"If we don't make it, I want you to know I love you. I love you so much."

Just writing that makes me cringe. Who would want to put their name on this crap? How can they make money out of this when rental shops have to give them away for people to watch?

It's past three in the morning, dammit, and I still can't sleep.

I guess it's not so much the cheesy lines that bothers me. It's more the fact that they think they can conjure romance by ticking off a list that must have been handed out at a seminar. Dense but badass guy? Check. Smartass, beautiful girl? Check. Bomb with big red numbers that's gonna blow up half of Manhattan? Of course! And in what alternative universe do the good girls get the good guys who're just that perfect for them?

Correct answer: It doesn't happen.

Argue with me all you want, I'm positive about this. See, remember my sister Jane? I'm sure I've posted a pic of here somewhere. She's pre-med, happily volunteers at the children's care center two days a week, and is so obscenely good-looking that she was asked to model. Granted it was just for the local hairdresser (whom we knew), but still.

She's never had a boyfriend. She's never had a boy friend even, unless you count my friends as hers. Which you probably can, seeing as we're pretty close for siblings and hang out all the time. But the point is that her inferiority complex is about the width and depth of the Pacific, so even though she's smart and kind and hot it's impossible to set her up with anyone.

(By the way I'm hoping no one is actually reading this because she's going to kill me for disclosing that.)

And then there's me.

While not as perfect as Jane, I do share half of her DNA. I'm also a lot more outgoing. It's still been fourteen months since I had any action in the love department - namely, since Bill Collins dropped his major and went to LA at the end of sophomore year. He'd wanted me to go with him, claiming he'd be able to support me once he got his big breakthrough, but I'd had enough sense to dig in my heels. If you've never heard of him, it might be because he's as good on stage as a rotten tomato - which I would have told him, if he'd ever shown the slightest interest in my opinions.

But I'm not so sure he even got the part where I said we were over.

He moved out - let's see - in April, when I was neck-deep in exams and could barely look up from my books long enough to ask him to close the freaking door. I didn't realize he was gone until the end of May and when I did, I promptly dragged my friends out to town to celebrate.

Because honestly? It was the best thing that happened to me ever since I moved away from home.

After Bill left, Jane pointed out that we wouldn't be able to split the rent between the two of us. I called my best friend Charlotte, who were still living in New York, to ask if she wanted to move into our cramped apartment. She didn't get into NYCB as she'd hoped (which I'm secretly happy for, as they're just a bunch of snobs), and I figured why not. Longbourn might not be as big as New York (don't think we even show up on Google Maps unless you zoom in really close), but what does it matter when you can have muffin nights, pajama parties, food fights, MacGyver reruns, Singstar tours, last-day exam-readings...

She moved in and my life turned from good to awesome.

I'm sharing apartment with my two favorite persons in the world. Charlotte's energy made me feel so bad I began to exercise, and I'm in greater shape than ever. Mary (younger sister) got into her college of choice. Game of Thrones Season 1 is dropping into my mailbox tomorrow; I've stocked up on snacks and convinced Jane and Charlotte to let me occupy the TV for 10 hours straight. And it's summer! Which is why I'm blogging so late - just realized it's near 4am now. Crap.

But yeah... I don't think it can get much better than this. And that is something those Razzie-ready movies completely fail to grasp, and one of the many reasons they're so completely unrealistic: You can be happy without romance.

In my case, I would even say I'm happier without romance. I just heard from Bill (again) last week when he called (drunk) to inform me that he was having the greatest time at the hottest club on the west coast, and guess who just came in the door, babe? I hung up on him before he could finish "Hilton".

I'd have filed for sexual harassment if he'd been worth the paperwork.

- Liz

Mood: Annoyed

Drinking: Ginger ale

Just watched: The X-Files: I Want To Believe

Rating: 1 out of 5

Next Chapter: Breaking News: William Darcy Is Dead