Anybody out there have an ex-girlfriend?
And now, a beautiful and inspiring po-ehm.
Whenever a dyke becomes free,
(and by free we mean "newly detached")
there's quite a right clamor to be
the new "I'm-helping-her-heart-to-get-patched."
Girls start sniffing like dogs around meat
(They knew the romance wouldn't last)
They line up in queues down the street
and prepare to forget her whole past.
The newly-detached finds a mate
as she sorts through the pack of lesbos,
And her spanking new love - must be fate!
their relationship daily doth grows.
But along comes the ex with a plan:
she'll destroy those sickening lovebirds!
She'll pose as a friend: "Yes we can!"
and shank with her friendly-type words.
Now the new lover's on guard
and jealousy spawns
Suspicions - they grow!
as green as new lawns!
The ex did her job - it's complete
A relationship lies now in ruins
She's got her old love by the teat,
and all from her "friendly-type" doins'.
If you are what you eat, then my brain matter today is composed of a microwaved gluten-and-dairy free burrito (eaten before insides were warm) and six stale Jet-Puffed marshmallows.
Anyway! That very serious poem was addressing a very serious issue I've been wondering about:
Why do so many of us lesbians try to stay friends with our ex-girlfriends?
Breeders have known for ages that it's a bad idea to stay friends with your ex.
A very lucky few were friends before they started dating and remain friends after they stop dating, but for the most part - the straights freak out.
Scenario: You're a boy and your wonderful new girlfriend is still "awesome" friends with her (very muscle-y) old boyfriend?
You freak out.
Scenario: You're a girl and your new boyfriend is still friends, and talks on the phone all the time with his (very hot) old girlfriend?
You freak out.
Scenario: You're a queer girl and your new girlfriend is still friends with (and goes out with and talks on the phone all the time with and fucking still cuddles with) her (hot mess) of an old girlfriend??
That's what lesbians do.
There are probably a few semi-good reasons.
1) There just ain't that many of us in any given city. There's got to be some sort of sexual crossover.
That chart-thing that Alice makes on the L-Word?
You can play it in real life.
It works. (And it's fucking humiliating, btw. Nothing like finding out you've shared crotches, through three degrees of separation, with one of your friends' moms.)
2) We are a trusting people.
Reluctant to give away our hearts; when we do, we'll do anything to believe our trust is not misplaced.
At one point, our exes thought the sun rose and set on our perky lil' bottoms. How could they ever want to cause us problems?
Pick a few!
c) cool as hell
d) really nice to us; or
e) good at doing that thing with their tongue.
Except now after dating her, you know what comes along with the special tongue trick (read: craziness), and you've opted out of the package deal.
But...can't we still be friends?
I'm guilty, too, y'allfags.
I'm still friends with almost every person I've ever dated, whether we fucked once, casually dated, or seriously considered getting married.
You either burn the house down or you don't.
CJ, for instance, is in contact with exactly NONE of her ex-girlfriends.
She burns the house down.
Waits until there's absolutely nothing left of value in the relationship, then torches it and walks away forever.
I can't. I can't.
But I know why I do it.
I know why I stay friends with my exes.
I can make a good analogy, if you want.
At the bakery in Chicago where I work, if someone is suddenly fired, they change all the locks.
Fuck up enough times, and you may find yourself pounding on the glass doors at 6 a.m. the next morning, locked out of the flour-y warmth, fogging up the glass yelling, "BUT THIS IS WHERE I WORK!"
I want to be friends with my ex-girlfriends because I loved them.
They used to make me laugh.
They used to make me dinner.
I used to be able able to grab their boobs whenever I wanted. Wherever I wanted.
Elevators. Cars. Restaurants. I could touch any part of their body and not get anything worse than a hissed "Krista. We. Are. In. Public!!!"
The locks got changed.
Cut to me, pounding on the doors, screaming, "BUT THIS IS WHERE I WORK!!!"
All I remember is love.
And how nice her tits were.
Is that what's up?
Are you friends with your exes?
How's that workin' out for you?