A/N: I wrote this in twenty minutes and I'm pretty proud of myself. Here and now, I would like to smack myself for standing up for that troll who has been posting fics here...I obviously did not do my homework and look at his/her/whatever's profile. I did make a mistake. Weird, right? ;D Honestly though, complete mistake. I have, along with many of you I'm sure, reported the person. But anyway,yes, I added part of that song that was soo last year, I thought it fit. Enjoy and R&R please!
Disclaimer: Yada yada don't own nothing.

"Nice guys finish last." Mark mumbled to himself, exiting the café that he had figured he would never be able to visit again.

Maureen had broken up with him for what had seemed like the fifteenth time. Always at the same time, same table, same waiter, same weather, same everything.

He had figured it was going to happen. "Pookie, we need to talk."

Mark could just feel her pouting her luscious lips over the phone.

"Yes Maureen." He'd sigh, feeling that sinking feeling all over again.

He'd take his bike to the café…the quaint, small one, right on the corner, only two blocks past their loft. She could never seem to break up with him at the Life Café…it seemed almost too tragic to do that.

He would park his bike, chain it up, and meet his soon to be ex at the table right next to the doors to walk in.

They would both order the same thing: water and a muffin.

She'd start the conversation off slowly, with a small pat on his hand and a reassuring smile.

"Pookie, I hate to do this but…"

She would then go into a long, drawn out speech about how it would never work out between them. Why, she was a drama queen, he could never live with that for the rest of his life.

But he could.

And he would say that he could.

But Maureen would shake her head in dismay.

"No, Marky, you couldn't."

He would just sigh and repeat that he would be able to live with it. Live with her.

Then next, she would always mention sex, the fact that they had so much and it was tiring her out.

Or she would mention how she had too many quirks. Or she took too much time in the bathroom. Or she got on Roger's nerves too much.

All of this was true, but Mark, the nice guy, could live with it. He was willing to live with it.

Finally, when her rant was all over, she would say the line nobody ever wants to hear:

"It's not you, it's me."

Mark would nod his head. He had heard that line too many times….most often in high school by girls that he would bring enough nerve up to ask out to a movie.

When he had finished his muffin and glass of water, he would get up, walk away from the table and whisper a quiet "see you at the loft." And then leave.

And he was right, because Maureen would always go back to the loft and apologize.

"I don't know what I was thinking, pookie!" She would rub her face in his sleeve and cry, sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of his hand.

He would then say it was alright, that everything was okay, and went back to being a pushover.

But this time….this time was different.

The breakup had started like every other break up.

Except, this time, Maureen was a lot more…serious.

After her rant, her eyes narrowed and her face was so straight…so un-Maureen it was scary.

"Mark. I've met a girl. I like her. A lot. Do you know what that means?"

Mark stared at her with the same blank expression he would always have during these things.

"Erm…you've made a new friend?"

Maureen arched an eyebrow. "Uh, not exactly."

Mark leaned in closer to her face and Maureen did the same. He could smell her lip gloss.

"…then what does it mean?"

"Mark…I'm…" She looked around to see if anybody was listening. "I'm…a bisexual! Half a lesbian, Mark! I'm gay!"

It came as a shock to Mark, slowly separating his face from hers.

"What?"

Maureen did her sultry giggled. "A les-bee-in!"

Mark walked into the loft to find the usual lazy Roger sitting on the couch.

"So what's new?"

"Maureen's a lesbian."

"…what's new?"

Mark, for once, was at a loss of words.

"You knew??"

"Dude, who didn't?"

Even losers can get lucky sometimes
All the freaks go on a winning streak
In a perfect world, all the geeks get the girls