I kinda always knew I'd end up your exgirlfriend

So I'm sitting on the couch with laptop (courtesy of the new wireless internet I set up all by myself), attempting to do some work for my job, but I also have Love Actually in the DVD player, so I'm not really doing much work (as is probably evidenced by the fact I am posting to my little sister's blog about horrendous ex-boyfriends, of which I have plenty).
Before I launch into my dickhead/dickless/whiskeydick-affected menagerie of ex-boyfriends, I feel obligated to say that I am not a ball-busting-bull-dyke-man-hater. Nothing at all like that. I really am a hopeless romantic. I can find something to love in just about everyone (and most of the time I do). The men I discuss here obviously did something repulsive to appear here. Otherwise, we'd be happily married with like a billion children (well, maybe not).
Now for their transgressions: I don't want to list this in chronological order, mostly because many of my exes aren't all that interesting (at least at this point) and I don't have all night. So here are the highlights:

Door #1: "Mr. Minnesota"

The first thing that turned me off about Mr. Minnesota is that he is an idiot but he is completely ignorant of his ignorance. He is also an authority on everything. Case in point: I was going on a trip to visit my sister in New Orleans last Easter. Mr. Minnesota knew about this and sends me an e-mail telling me about the sights I should see in New Orleans. An excerpt from his e-mail: "you should go to this cafe in the French Quarter where they have coffee with chickory and world-famous powdered donuts." BEIGNETS, DUMBASS!
Despite this, I agreed to go on a date with Mr. Minnesota. The night before, I had been out drinking with my friends and I spent all day throwing up, but Mr. Minnesota wouldn't let me cancel because he had already bought tickets for a show. So he picks me up and brings me two bottles of wine and a dozen roses (can you say overkill). He proceeds to take me to one of the priciest restaurants in Minneapolis and then to the play (Romeo and Juliet, because that's not a cliche) where I sit in a cold, dark theater watching bad actors butcher Shakespeare, completely nauseated because he must have bathed in Polo Sport (gag--I love Ralph Lauren, I hate Polo Sport). He brings me home at the end of the night and asks if he can walk me upstairs. Until this point, I have never told a guy he couldn't walk me to my door (I usually just give them blueballs at the door). I look him in the eye and say "um, no."
He pulls out a piece of paper, on which he has written me a poem and tells me to "read it later". I can't make this stuff up. I sprung from the car and ran inside.
Congrats, Jackass, you took me on the worst date of my life.

Door #2: "AB"

Never ever date the guy you drunkenly suck face with at a Jimmy Buffett concert. Chances are good he only seems like a catch because you are faced.
AB and I dated very casually in the summer of 2003 while I was maintaining another blog. One night, we went out in College Park and I got completely wasted. AB tried to get me to fool around with him but I was really turned off by him.
A few days later, I wrote in blog about the incident (it was actually a lot more tactful than I'm making it sound). I concluded that even though there was nothing wrong with him, I was just not attracted to him at all and didn't want to date him. I also concluded that the best way to not date him was to two-week him. (Editor's note: "two-weeking" is the theory that if you don't communicate with someone for two weeks, you are no longer dating that person. It only works for people who are casually dating--obviously if you are serious you need to have a sit-down with your significant other when you want to dump his ass). I thought it would be a good idea to write all of this down in my blog and then I set about avoiding his calls.
Until he stopped calling my cell phone and stated calling my parents' house (how the hell did he get that number??). When I answered, he chewed my ass for a good hour. Apparently, he didn't think it was the least bit sketchy to GOOGLE SEARCH me and he came across the blog and read all about my evil little plot (I'm subsequently removed all references to myself from that site, making it damn near impossible to find it if you don't know what you're looking for).
How much sketchier can one get? But the sketchiest guy ever is behind

Door #3: "Bad Driving Man"

I was completely crazy about the bad driving man. Which is why I was heartbroken when he left for spring break, said "I'll call you when my plane lands, babe", and I never heard from him. Despite my calls and e-mails, I didn't hear a word from him until the last day of break when he called from the Columbus airport, wondering if I could pick his ass up and drive it back to college.
When I questioned his whereabouts, he told me he had gone to the ER for a headache and they found a spot on the MRI film and the doctors thought it was cancer so he and his (urologist) father flew from Chicagoland to LA to spend a week getting tested at the John Wayne Cancer Institute for brain cancer that turned out to be a speck of dust on the imaging equipment.
Now if you thought you had brain cancer, wouldn't you call your girlfriend of nine months and tell her? Furthermore, if lived in Chicago and thought you had brain cancer, wouldn't you stay in Chicago and go to one of their top hospitals? Or at least take a ONE HOUR plane ride to MAYO CLINIC (the best cancer hospital in the world) to have it looked at instead of flying all the way to a research facility?? But what do I know.
A few months later, after totalling my mother's convertible, he pulled the same stunt and I never heard from him again. No big loss there.