proof that I am funny

Disclaimer: names have been changed due to my sheer embarrassment. Some of my friends have already read this, but It's still a funny story.
My 3 ex's
I’m really really girly. I think it’s safe to say I’m the girliest thing you’ll ever meet. I giggle, use the word cute extensively and my favorite color is pink. You don’t look at me and say ”she’s a butch one.” So it a little ironic that something so feminine can have 3 gay ex-boyfriends in a row, within a 2 year time span.

My story begins where all good stories begin: college. My freshman year I lived in the all girl dorm, aka the “Virgin Vault” or “Promise Land” depending who you asked. An all girl hall wasn’t my ideal living situation, but remember that female friends have male friends. There was plenty of intermingling between our 18-year-old hormonally-charged-selves in our no rules environment. There was hardly a shortage of testosterone, and when fall rush came around, so did the best part of it all: frat boys.

Enter Mike; he was everything I wanted at the moment: frat boy and blond. I was introduced to him by chance when walking back from class with a fellow Virgin Vaulter. We exchanged pleasantries, and parted ways. No love lost I thought, I figured I wouldn’t see him again, and he smoked, a deal breaker in my book. But something like six weeks later; we’re exclusive. He was a smoker all right, but he was “trying to quit,” so that made it ok. The bonus of a frat boy boyfriend is that he came with frat boy friends. They were equal parts good looking to jack ass. I didn’t try to understand the frat-guy-mentality. They beat each other up, drew phallic symbols on each other’s passed out faces, called each other obscenities while trying to sleep with everyone else’s date including their own. In hindsight, these guys are idiots, but they seemed to enjoy berating anyone they could for the hell of it. So when they would call Mike gay, I considered it the verbal equivalent of a ball-tag. No reason for it, it’s just really funny to watch the guy go down.

Despite all those aforementioned charms, we didn’t last. And not only did not last, we ended baaaad. There was crying and then begging, 97% of it from him. He broke it off then pleaded for me to take him back, 6 hours later. He begged, cried, and waited outside my building for a few hours in hopes I would at least come down to talk to him. This gesture could have been construed as romantic, if you negate the fact I was livid. I would have rather thrown something sharp out my window at him, but I have really bad aim. After careful-ish consideration, I decided to not take his immature-still-smoking-had-dumped-me ass back. I left a month later for summer vacation, and I though I never had to deal with this guy again.

Fall came, and I had a new lease on life to go along with the new school year. Here’s where the gay’s guys start to pop up (dirty). At some sort of function, I ran into the friend who had introduced me to Mike. After the classic jumping grabbing the elbows while screaming I’ve-missed-you-so-much-hug, she drops the bombshell: “Mike’s bi.” She filled me in on the details of his male experimentation over the summer as my mouth fell further and further. After several rounds of no way’s nuh-uh’s and eww eww eeeeeww’s, I knew one thing for certain, he was probably diseased by now. And I was going to tell everyone.

I was shell shocked to say the least. All the frat boy comments came screaming back. How had they seen this and not me? He had wimped out of the fraternity during hell week and cried, bawled actually. He was a touchy with his friend Dave. He read my Cosmo’s before I was finished with them. He liked my pretty smelling lotions and took me shopping. He loved dancing, and wanted to paint my toenails. All that time I thought it could have been love; when it turns out we wanted the same thing, men.

That same night I went to a party where I tried to get my mind off of that recent news flash. There I spotted this devilishly handsome guy having a grand time dancing to Billie Jean, which should have been my first clue. Later that night he complimented my ring before he noticed my chest, second clue. But he was Italian and had dark hair, the opposite of my recently-discovered-his-sexual-orientation-ex. Plus he had thick and unruly eyebrows, clearly, he was strait. Now he may have been skinny, a really good dancer, and had a few moments of limp wrist, but damit, he was good looking. After couple dates later, my friends were raising eyebrows and insinuations. Despite my best efforts, the limp wrist moments weren’t flukes and were proof enough. Unlike the previous relationship though, we ended amicably. We lost interest in each other and I was tired of defending his sexuality. And just as before, I was quick to move on.

Now this guy, Trent, was the crème de la crème. Even I knew he was gay. Admittedly, my gaydar isn’t the sharpest considering I hadn’t seen the last two coming. So if I think you’re gay, you’re gay. This guy charred anything in his path he was so flaming. So imagine my surprise to find he has a crush on me. Imagine everyone’s surprise when I accepted a date. I had my reasons, I was kinda lonely, and he was kinda pretty.

The date didn’t change my opinion of him; in fact it reaffirmed my belief. He shared too much and as an immaculate dresser. He didn’t even try to understand sports and cried during Disney movies. He had a blush brush to apply bronzer. I don’t even wear bronzer. This guy was gay; the only one who didn’t admit it was him. I was the biggest advocate of the “just come out already campaign.” But he made decent arm candy which was all I could handle at the moment. As long as he didn’t talk much and stayed still he might have been able to pass for a just a well dressed pretty boy. But he kept opening his mouth and flailing those damn hands around. And then it finally it was too much. He got a tattoo. Of his astrological sign. On his pelvis. I ended things then. He had passed GO, gotten the $200 and owned the monopoly on fruitcake.

There I was, not even 20 with 3 gay ex-boyfriends. And I know that bi’s not technically gay, but bi is just a train stop on the way to gay-town (A Sex and the City quote mind you). Plus three gay exes evoke more sympathy then 2 and a half and makes a hell of a lot better story. I understand that college is a time when people discover who they really are, and coming out is the status quo. But seriously, 3 in a row? Since I was the last girl they had all dated, I was deemed the catalyst. Talk about blow to your self-esteem. If there’s something mannish about me, I’d like to know. It was decided that I was cursed, so I refrained from dating for a while. At the rate I was turning them, there would be no strait guys left by the time I left college. I had to stop dating to keep the population going. Over time, the curse relented and I’ve been snagging strait ones pretty consistently. But my gaydar still sucks.