You Know How I Know You’re Gay?

Full disclosure: One of my high school boyfriends is now gay. My first college boyfriend was gay. I’d say about 40% of the men in my life are gay. I was born and raised in the gayest city in the Confederacy; I have one of the gayest degrees you can have from a very gay friendly school in one of the gayest cities in the country. In short, I know gay.

I say all that to say that if you wanna know where a gay club is in your city? I know. You need a lube recommendation? I am all over that. And if you aren’t entirely sure if that dude you met at Pottery Barn is gay or just has great taste in housewares, I am your girl.

It’s important you remember this.

An associate of mine was telling me about her new suitor via gchat, all giddy and excited as us girls tend to be when we find someone we really like. You know how it goes. All breathless recounting every single detail of every single conversation/date/text message. Copious amounts of smiley faces and lol’s. And, of course, various incarnations of “I’ve never felt this way before…”

I tolerating her despite how annoying this new phase of a crush can be because, in truth, I just love when people find each other. It helps my little Grinch heart grow a little bigger so that one day it might break that measuring device. So I am indulging her, smiling to myself about how ridiculous she is when she sends me a picture of the two of them on their latest date…

*cue record scratch*

Dude… has a quality. To the untrained gay spotting eye, he probably looks like any other well dressed, immaculately groomed guy. But there is a… something. And the unfortunate thing about once you reach black card level fag hag is you can’t turn off your gaydar. Not even if your friend really, really likes this guy.

So I ask a few questions to my oblivious girlfriend, still swimming the shallow waters of an early crush. Nothing raises many red flags, and just as I am about to relax and maybe send my gaydar in for a tune up she says, “I even get along with his roommate.”

“Roommate?”
“Oh, yeah. His friend from college lives with him. Omg, La, maybe you guys should meet. His name is Chris.”

*blank stare*

Never mind the fact that this grown ass, thirty-two year old man has a roommate but the roommate is MALE?!?!

I have dated about all the homos I intend to date on this side of creation, so I gently tell her I am good on the hookup.

At this point, I am trying very hard not to jump to conclusions, but I am concerned. A lot. I ask whether the roommate has fallen on some hard times or something. Nope. Both have stable, long term, well-paying jobs. I ask if they have just always lived together and just never bothered to move out. No again. They just moved in with each other last year.

Two strikes.

Eventually I get his last name from her and do what any woman should be doing before she or a friend goes out with some stranger dude; I Face.Booked him.

Now if you ever need to do gay recon (or relationship recon for that matter- we’ll discuss that at a later date) don’t waste your time going through their wall or info. All the good stuff is in their messages anyway. Go straight for the pictures.

Which is what I did.

It seemed all innocent at first until I got to pics of him with his friends at a cookout for the 4th. I will freely admit it was all circumstantial at best; the big pony polo that was just a little too tight. The cargo shorts that were just a big too snug on his ass. One picture where he is leaning much too far away from a girl with an amazing ass. But still, all of that means nothing. So I kept clicking.

The next picture is a picture of him and his “roommate.” The roommate is sitting on a bench, facing the camera. My friend’s dude has his back to the camera, but has turned around so that HIS CHIN IS HOOKED ON OLD BOY’S SHOULDER.

THREE FUCKING STRIKES.

Really? Resting your head on dude’s shoulder? I’ll be late for that.

“Girl, you realize this man is as gay as pride weekend in San Francisco, right?”
“What?! He is not. La, you think EVERYONE is gay.”
“No, I don’t. Just the ones that are gay. Like this dude.”
“He is not! He is just well dressed.”
“It’s not about him being well dressed, though he wears his shirts so tight, y’all could share tank tops. But I am about 98% sure he is a homo.”
“How do you even know he’s gay?”
“I just know.”

It is hard to explain to people who are not fluent in gay, how you’ve come to know so much about The Gay. And as she doesn’t have my pedigree, she doesn’t know any better. But since I do, I feel like I have to say something. I spend the next 10 minutes trying to explain to her that while he might be a top, he is most certainly gay.

Naturally, it goes nowhere.

Because she don’t know from gay. Because she really likes this guy. Because this so called “man shortage” got these women out here straight shook and she like many other women, are concerned that every guy they have chemistry with might be their last.

“La, you are so ruining this for me!”
“I’m sorry. I am. But I’m right.”
“Quit!”
“Ok just let me say one more thing. And then I will drop it.”
“Ok, what?”
“He’s gay. He’s shops the Barney’s sale gay. He’s wears leather bracelets gay. He’s man-purse gay. He’s going to the ballet for the men in tights gay. He is a Beyonce dancing, pink feather boa draping, Rock and Republic jeans rocking, Cosmopolitans at the bar sipping, white Prada shades wearing, crotch watching at the gym, glitter, stars and rainbows homo.”

And then she logged off.

In her defense, I coulda been nicer about it. But it’s Monday. And he’s gay.

I hope he comes outta the closet soon though. I have a friend I would LOVE to set him up with.