She was one of those girls, who described herself as "bi," to make herself seem more interesting, even though she wasn't really "bi."  Then once you got to know her, as a person, you discovered she wasn't really "bi," and suddenly, she seemed significantly less interesting.  She was one of those girls. 

Then you'd wonder if she was ever interesting to begin with, or, if, maybe, you'd just given her credit based on this one false fact of sexuality.  By then, it didn't really matter. You'd wasted hours listening to insipid stories about how everyone else in her life was a "psycho" who'd "stalked" her or "tried something the last time" they "got high together."  She was one of those girls. 

She would talk about how she wanted to write a story where nothing bad happened.  People just loved each other.

"Why would I read that? What's interesting about that?" You'd ask.

"The world is too full of conflict.  I just want to write about something where there's no conflict." She'd say.

"There's always conflict.  This morning, I didn't want to get out of bed but I had to go make money. That was a conflict.  Do I order another beer and then go piss, so my new drink will be waiting when I get back? Or, do I listen to your bit about a 'story with no conflict' and wait to go piss? There's the conflict. What do these 'love people' do?" You'd ask.

"They're superheroes." She'd answer.

"That makes no fucking sense."

You'd close your eyes tight and rub a cold beer bottle across your forehead, just to pass the time, while she talked.  When some other guy came up and talked to her, you'd feel like you just passed off a bad penny.  Then you'd cut and run.  She was one of those girls. 

That's all I have to say about that.