Pick a Little, Talk a Little

I took my wonderful friend Jeni to Prom last night. It was definitely an… experience, to say the least.

We started off the day with coffee, shopping, and hair. While she was getting her Gwen Stefani curls done, I rushed around Longmont, pulling the last bits and pieces of the puzzle together. Camera? Check. Dress? Check. Earrings? Boot Flask? Gin? Check. Check. Check.
I slid the knot of my powder blue tie into place, as Jeni slipped into her spring-style dress. Teeth check? Perfect. Hair? Flawless.

As we drove over to a friend of Jeni’s house, we sucked down matching cigarettes, and managed to leave matching ash marks on our matching outfits. Shrugging it off, we floored the gas, and laughed the rest of the way.

When we arrived, it was absolute chaos. There was a poperazzi of people waiting with cameras and adoring faces, just dying to shoot their loads rolls of film. After 25 minutes of happy faces, serious faces, Hollywood poses and silly faces, I shoved the handle of gin next to the bottle of rum, zipped up my bag, and we were on our way to dinner at PF Changs.

We arrived ten minutes late, and we were well on our way to being drunk. Prom Date Ken, complete with surfer hair and boot flask I spent the entirety of dinner discretely pouring alcohol into our drinks, and slamming them one by one. By the time our plates were being cleared, I managed to hit on our waiter, wink at a bus boy, accidentally molest Jeni’s Mormon school mate, and call these rude fat girls [who were giving MY date dirty looks] “-round, shiny, fat chicks, who shouldn’t be eating out in public, they should be at home crying, and eating nothing. I mean how desperate can their dates be? Everytime they have sex; a new crevasse, a new experience!”

PROM was FUCKED.
We looked hot. We danced hard, we played hard, and we were fierce. Considering what little time I had to pull my look together, we did an amazing job, if I say so myself. People I used to go to school with, were glaring and staring. The teachers were outraged, the girls were pissed that my date was so gorgeous. After five minutes, we were like, let’s go.

So we went to Jeni’s “boyfriend’s” house.
I drank more and passed out. It was the most glamorous ending to a night I could have imagined.

It’s funny that I continue to go to these functions. They’re all exactly the same. Dumb guys who can’t tell they head from their asshole, and bitchy girls that squeeze into little dresses, who call everyone else a whore, even though they don’t even realize their big old titty’s hangin’ out.

It always unfortunately ends the same, as well. At the end of the night, I’m holding a bottle in one hand, and a drunken girl in the other. Being the gentleman that I am, I tuck ‘em in, take a last swing, and hope that I pass out before the realization that I’m completely alone at the end of a seemingly “romantic” night.

It’s interesting how people take it so seriously. The dress, the dinner, the pictures. It’s just a dance. And at the end of the night, everyone’s alone.

Sunrise, Sunrise, It's like morning in your eyes.
Matty B.

All The Things That I Used to Know, Have Gone Out The Window

I recently met this wonderful woman, that was introduced to me as “Mama”. I sat there with my dear friend Jenny, and talked to this woman for hours. From the second I started talking to her, to the time I clicked my car door shut, she treated both of us as complete equals.

Mama is a 40 something bisexual marketing executive for a Denver newspaper agency, who has three+ children, a Jap-African bisexual boyfriend, and lives in a beautiful town home in Longmont. [they actually exist!] Every beer we drank, was matched by love war story. This woman has seen it all. She gave me advice with sexual, personal, and even business relationships. The best part is, is that she listened and took our advice as well.

Our main focus of the evening was the similarity of the relationship with her current boyfriend, and my disaster of a relationship with David. It was amazing how she was three times my age, and in the exact same predicament as I was. I could whip out some crayons and make a third grade “Venn Diagram” to accurately portray the similarities.

Both of our men were large and masculine. They both hated the sight of blood, and were beautiful singers. These men were both some of the best sex we’ve had, as well as the kindest, most sensitive, charismatic people we’d ever met. They both had just ended a very long term relationship, and were still moving on. Where we differed was that after we presented our very apparent affection for the other, Mama’s man embraced it, while David did not.

We must have talked for hours. I told her about how I packed a bottle of white wine [our favorite], some bre, and trekked out to Boulder via bus, during the biggest blizzard of the season. Even though he bailed on me, after pushing the goddamn bus out of a snow drift, traveling for 7 hours, and arriving to Boulder soaking wet, Mama just helped me realize how much I actually had to offer a man.

I debated with her for hours, explaining how I never did anything like that before, and it was completely uncharacteristic of me to have so much faith in someone. She only responded, that while it may be uncharacteristic, it’s still in me, and that I shouldn’t let go of that faith. I scrunched my nose, and sat back in my chair, still unsatisfied with her answer. She responded to the distain on my face with a smile, and a swift kick in the shin.

While I rubbed my shin, she explained to me that while I might feel bitter towards men right now, the fact that I could open up to someone like that, is amazing. And the fact that I actually still go on dates and even talk to men is just the first step to finding someone that will be able to appreciate what I have to offer. While I still had my reservations about men, it was nice to have an open conversation with someone about a subject I was still so sensitive about.

It’s unfortunate because recently, friends have actually turned out to be less than friends. It seems that I have to spare even my closest friends from “personal” talk, because no one knows what to say. The look of extreme discomfort settles over their face, and I immediately regret bringing my troubles up. It was just so refreshing to have an ADULT conversation with someone who very clearly knew what the hell they were talking about.

Sometimes, what you have to offer is terrifying to someone. Usually because they had no idea that you had it in you. I realize that I appear vapid and shallow, but people have to understand that there is always some sort of depth to an individual.

As I scroll through the gaytabase I look at all the beautiful shirtless men, flexing and smiling coyly. Do I change my behavior, accept that I appear void of character, and exploit my physical attributes? Or do I take another stab at finding someone worth while? I suppose that is still to be determined.

Straight up now tell me, do you really want love?
Matty B.

I’ve Been Given A Chance At A Do-Over, And I Consider Myself Lucky


The past couple of weeks my moods and relationships has seamlessly reflected the weather. On Monday last week, it was 45 degrees and lightly rained. On Tuesday, it was 55 without a cloud in the sky. Wednesday and Thursday, I think I might have even seen a snowflake, that was followed by a beautiful bright and sunny weekend.

I used to have some really good friends. I won’t lie, in high school, we ruled the school. Tasha and I were one of the two most popular people there. I was a 16 year-old with my own place, and she was a skinny, hot, funny European girl. Carter didn’t go to our school anymore, but he was exclusively dating Tasha, and soon became my best friend, making his popularity sky rocket.

I established myself my junior year when I transferred, and was dating a senior boy, that went there. We were the “it” couple, but broke up at the end of the school year. I suppose you can’t see what an amazing person you have, until they aren’t there anymore.

When I came back to school, I met Tasha in our gym class… which happened to be “Aerobic Walking”. Soon, the three of us became best friends, and were the most loved and hated people in the school.

I recently stopped speaking with Carter because of his “irresponsibility’s” not only with his friends and family, but with himself. Because of my decision to get clean, I had to cut out the negativity in my life. When he was faced with two choices, dirty attention from sleazy little candy kids was more important to him, than person he promised he would always be there for; his partner.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made the same choice he did. I was faced with two options. One was to be a clean kid, with my best friend in the whole world, Bri. She was the only person in the entire world that I didn’t need any sort of substance, to have an abundance of fun with. What did I do? Well, I went from living with my other half, to sitting in my studio apartment smoking a cigarette and sporadically responding to myspace comments from 13-year-old “scene” boys that convince themselves that life in suburbia is absolutely inhabitable and that their live journal is the only way they can vent about their unmanagable middle-class lives.

The problem here isn’t the fact that a cherished relationship has been displaced, but that after we both walked away clean, I’m plagued with talk that my name is being smeared by people that think they know me. It’s one thing to be hated because I’ve treated you poorly, or because I’m talking mad shit about you, but it’s quite another to hate me because I’m doing what’s best and what’s healthiest for me.

It’s actually kind of interesting, that once I move on from the whole sticky situation, and I actually start doing wonderful things for myself, I start hearing hub-bub on myspace and connexion about how old friends are starting unnecessary feuds, telling lies, and proving to everyone how jealous they of about me.

I get it, I used to be addicted to drugs. I talked shit, I was horrible. But the question is:
Should I revert back to the old ways, pull a Gretchen, and start spilling secrets? Or do I keep my lips tightly pressed together, smile, and let jealous children attempt to play their games?

I’m a better and different person, now. I learn from my mistakes, and I take credit when, due. I wasn’t the best friend I could have been. I wasn’t always 100% supportive, and I didn’t always have the most time on my hands. Oh hello! I’m a seventeen year old homosexual boy attempting to not only live on my own, but manage a social life where my main focus is sobriety and getting healthy. You can talk as much shit as you want, but I was ALWAYS there when it counted most. I was ALWAYS brutally honest, and I was abundant in love.

When your life was upside down, I was there for you. ALL of you. When anyone’s life is a mess, I come in and fix it. That’s what I do. People don’t always like to hear the truth, but that’s all I have to offer them. Truth and love. A lot of the time, that’s too much for some people. Hey I might come across as a raging bitch, insecure, or even just an asshole… At first. But no one I know can say that I haven’t cared. In the past I’ve been a little manic about how I’ve come across, but thanks to my dear friend Eric, a horribly failed relationship with David, and the demise of the “Boulder Raving Crew”, I’ve learned that I need to be upfront with people with my opinion: I give it to them once, and that’s my two cents. I have to let people live their lives, and make their own mistakes. I care too much, I know. But I’ve learned to let people choose their own paths. Even though they might be walking into a mess of trouble, I have to bite the bullet.

So while I’m biting my tongue, others are shooting me with passive aggressive verbal assault. They’re trying to exploit me, because they are jealous that I can walk away with a clean slate.

The decision’s been made. I’m a better person.
And haters are just gonna have to hate.


I may not be perfect, but i'm sure as hell better than you.
Matty B.

Addicted to Addiction

The setting is always the same: hard plastic chairs set in a circle, a musty scent plaguing the air, and a random assortment of people who all ended up in the same position: on their back, belly up, and completely hopeless to their addictions. While their stories vary from person to person, everyone has the same furrowed brow, that matches their fear of an unmanageable life.

While reading literature at home and flipping through all the support groups, I see that there are more and more groups organizing, trying to get each themselves help. There must be a hundred groups ranging from “NA” to “AA“; from “Anorexics Anonymous” to “Over-Eaters Anonymous“. It seems that in this day in age, society is completely reliant on finding someone else that has their same addiction, and trying to get help for it. As my eyes scan the trails and trails of support groups, I stop abruptly at “Kleptomaniacs Anonymous“. I sit there in disbelief for a moment, and then try to search for “Group Therapy Addicts Anonymous”. Oh there it is. Right between “Sexual Compulsives Anonymous“ and “Narcissists Anonymous“. -Wait what?

I roll my eyes in disbelief, and I pack my gym bag to head out to 24 hour fitness. What ever happened to having problems, and working them out on your own? As I drive across town, and walk into my gym, I ask myself how we managed to become a society where enough isn’t ever enough? We always want more. If it’s a darker tan, or even a nicer, better car. Having nice things, or being in “good” condition, isn’t standard anymore. What? This house only has 6 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms? With a family of three, we must have at LEAST 8 bedrooms, and Won’t settle for anything less.

I park, and stroll into 24 Hour Fitness, and I’m immediately surrounded by gym-a-holic men, who are not only shaped like upside down triangles, but seem to have heads the size of their fists. As they strut around on their knuckles, their little tiny legs dangling and dragging behind them, I just smile to myself, and thank god that I was addicted to drugs, and not to the bench press.

What has this world come to, when looking good or feeling good, isn’t good enough anymore? Don’t get me wrong, There are people out there that have real problems that affect not only themselves, but the people around them, as well as society as a whole. But where do you draw the line?

I frequent the gym quite regularly. I have a set schedule: four days a week, where I elliptical, run, lift weights, do my core routine, and circuit train. If I decide to go to the gym more than that, I limit myself to a brief elliptical and hot tubing and a swim. Every time I go there, regardless to the time, I always see the same triangle people.

I like to think that I am fairly good shape, and consider myself to have a slim athletic body type. While I might feel good about myself, for some reason I always seem to have people raising a brow, like I’m being judged on the runway, or something. I won’t lie, one of the appeals of the gym is seeing gorgeous men there, lifting weights getting sweaty, and of course the shower. But why does everyone feel that they have to always do more, more, more?

I went on a date a few weeks ago, with a young man in his mid 20’s, fairly attractive, and clearly on the track to be successful. That wasn’t was attracted me to him though. He had this incredibly dry humor, that not many people possessed or could relate to, like I did. Not only was he funny and charming, but he seemed like he had a real head on his shoulders.

On our second date, I took him to Paris on the Platte, a “hip” restaurant in LoDo that’s open late on the weekends. (which is definitely the appeal to me).
Mistake Number One: He ordered himself a sandwich and chips, and when the waitress asked me what I would like, he replied, “He’ll have the chicken ceaser salad.”…
Mistake Number Two: when I turned to him and told him I was vegetarian, he responded, “It’ll be good for you.” …
Mistake Number Three: We were talking about what we did in our free time (our first date had been a berief meeting at a local coffee shop), he told me he liked cars and hiking. He asked me what I did with my free time, and I responded that I go to the gym four times a week. He said,” Really? It doesn’t show. You should go more.”…

While he was in the bathroom, I got up from the table, and walked out. I walked 3 miles home, in the middle of the night, because I had met a toxic man. This asshole thought that it was okay to not only be a raging ASSHOLE, but express that my body wasn’t good enough. I have no visible love handles, and I like to think that I was in pretty good shape, considering I was just getting in shape for summer. I wanted to BETCH SLAP that DECK, but I figured walking out would be a bigger impact.

It’s men like this that make people feel that they have to do something drastic in order to “recover” from their horrible experience. Whether is was go blow a gram to loose some weight, console yourself by diving into a greasy hamburger, or flying to the gym to power lift, people feel that they need to have an adverse reaction to themselves, instead of realizing that these people are just asshole. So what? Someone called you fat. Doesn’t mean I have to run to the gym, diet pills in pocket and membership card in hand. There comes a time when you have to take the time to be addicted to not being addicted. And the best way to do that is to accept that that only person who can hurt you as well as the only person that can help you, is yourself.

Today is going to be a good day.
Matty B.

When Work Turns To Love

I’ve recently found myself trying to give back to the community. I’ve had this push to start trying make things right with the world. My first step was going to meetings. My second? Starting to make my amends with the people I have wronged. My third step, is giving back to the community by working for an environmentalist group, centrally located here in Denver.

The setting has been the same, so far. We meet as a group, talk a little bit about of ourselves, identify with , each other, hop into a car, and one by one get dropped off at our respective destination points, usually during really horrible weather. At the end of the day, we all come together, compare our findings and donations, and finish the night off with some paperwork and a drink.

I’ve found that this is not unlike the dating world.

I start in cold, unfamiliar territory, where no one looks inviting. Searching for the most amicable, I spot the cleanest one, with the most guise. I have to pump myself up, to get the nerve to approach, followed by brief interaction, a few moments to pitch myself to them, followed by my heart pounding out of my chest, waiting if I’ve done a satisfactory job, convincing them that I’m a worthy cause.

Today alone, I knocked on 84 doors, actually talked to 42 people, and only received 6 donations.

After about the first hour of canvassing, I stood there on the corner of 18th and Monroe, wondering exactly I was doing wrong. At that point, I had run into an old friend, had a handful of pennies thrown at me (one hitting me in the face) and had made NO money. I sucked down my cigarette in angst, and really thought to myself as to why I was un-relatable. As I finished my cigarette, I thought maybe it was the way I was dressed, or perhaps the way I approached them. I fixed myself up, and pitched to them in a completely different way.

An hour and a half later, with my balls the temperature of a martini I so desperately wanted to drink, I found myself on the a similar corner, two blocks down, cigarette in hand. I then thought to myself, maybe I need to eye out the territory a little bit better, and see which ones look the most promising. I flicked out my smoke into the gutter, pulled my hat snug, readjusted myself, fixed my glasses, and marched right up to the next door with a smile on my face, and my heart on my sleeve.

It wasn’t until 4 hours of canvassing, I realized that it wasn’t my appearance, how I went about pitching the idea of donations, or even the fact that I was freezing my ass off in an environment that I was completely unfamiliar. It was that people are tired of giving; the world is tapped out of compassion.

It’s the end of the day, and I’m sitting in the back seat, crammed in with the feeling of failure and distraught. I spent the entire day looking for passion in the world, and love for their community, and way more often, than not, I was completely denied.

My fellow environmentalist turns to me and asks,” Matty, how many donations did you get?”
I respond, ”Six.”
She then asks, “How many people invited you into their home, while you were pitching to them?”
I think for a moment, frown, and say, “Oh I don’t know, maybe 20?”
She smiles and says, “sweetheart, it’s not about how much money you make, or how many donations. It’s about people giving to you what they can, and you sharing what you have to offer them. They may not have been able to give you money, but they opened their home to you, so you could get out of the harsh conditions of the outside cold. What you have to offer them is awareness and education. You help them become a better person, while they shelter you from the cold. Our goal is to inspire thought and change, to make them become better people. You were doing their job, and they were doing theirs.”
I sat there absolutely stunned at the fact that something so groundbreaking could come out of such a small, rather quiet person.
For the rest of the car ride back to our office in LoDo, I just pondered the whole idea of changing people. Yes, once in ever 20 people I meet and interact with I might get something of substance from, but with every human contact I make, we both change a grow from each other.

Maybe that’s what’s life’s about. Not measuring yourself by how many people have loved you, but how many times you’ve put yourself out there to be loved, and how many life’s you’ve changed along the way.

Either way, while I sit here rubbing my sore legs, I know that not only have I changed other people just a little bit, I definitely know that I have changed for the better. As cliché’s as it’s sounds, the hard work in poor conditions have built some character.

I can brown, I can be blue, I can be violet sky, I can be purple, I can be anything, anything i would like.
Matty B.

Rose Up Off The Doctor's Slab

Someone gave me hope today.
And that is amazing.

I gave a piece to my mother, and a piece to my man.
Matty B.

"This May Be Jibberish To You, But I Think I'm Tragedy-"

I don't like talking poorly in this blog,
because people read it.


I think that the winds will be changing,
and that i will be living life a little different.

There's nothing wrong with him, he just likes to poke until you pop.
Matty B.