Second Date MasQUEERade


People say that when you stop looking for someone to be with, that person will come to you. Two weeks ago, I started my new, fabulous job at Forever 21, and I also started attending the Colorado Art Institute; majoring in Graphic Design. When I was dating David, I thought that when he said he was busy, he was just being melodramatic. Boy, was i wrong. Between working EVERYDAY that I’m not going to school, and going to classes from noon until 10pm twice a week, I barely have time to breathe, much less fathom the idea of dating someone. Understandably, I stopped thinking about the idea of a relationship. Hell, I barely have enough time for friends, much less the time or energy to nurture a new relationship.

For the past few months I’ve been talking to a few guys via the gaytabase, not really making much of all the vapid, mindless conversations, and gross, horny, old men. I was surprised to see that Mr. Business-degree, 22-year-old property manager, not only emailed me with a witty movie reference, but was politely coy, and very attractive. I immediately emailed him back.

We decided to go to Paris on the Platte for coffee (he ordered English Breakfast tea, I a coffee) the next day. He picked me up at my apartment, which he proudly disclosed that, already, he had it paid off. We sat at a table outside, and had the most wonderful date. He was smart and witty, very polite, and at the end of the night, he dropped me off, without kissing me. You would think that was a bad thing, but he said that he didn’t want me to think that he was promiscuous, and that he respected me. I was thrilled, and set up a second date to watch a movie at his house, two nights later.

Joke was on me.

He was late. In fact he was very, very, very late. The prearranged agreement was that he was going to pick me up at ten thirty, and we would then go back to his place to watch “the Queen” (I’ve been wanting to see it for quite sometime now).

11pm: I texted him at to see where he was at, and he responded twenty minutes later telling me he was five minutes away.

11:30: He texted me, and asked if I would mind if he was a little buzzed. I replied, no, if he fixed me a drink when we got to his house. He responded that he had no liquor. I thought that he was just loosening up, because he’s quite, and was kind of nervous on our first date, so I let it slide.

12:30: I sent him a text, telling him how incredibly late he was. He responded he’d be there soon. Then it clicked. I immediately asked him if he was at the bar. He said yes. I was furious. I asked him, are you at JR’s?! He replied,” Yes, Yes, I am SO SO SO sorry.”

1am: I texted him, and said, “you are such a disappointment.” He replied, and said,” Stop being drama.” Outraged, I told him good bye.

He arrived at my apartment ten after two. Drunk. He said how sorry he was, he’s been depressed and sad, and that he drank a lot. He even diagnosed himself as an alcoholic. I felt bad for him, and agreed I would come over.

Joke was on me, yet again.

I wanted to drive, and he wouldn’t let me. He was WASTED drunk. While driving on Highway 6, he was going 90, and weaving in an out of cars. He told me that he wasn’t scared of going fast, because he flew planes, and they go way faster. I checked to make sure my seatbelt was clicked and tight.

We arrived at his home. Modern. Expensive looking. Everything was in it’s special place, not lived in, untouched. NO personality. Then it hit me. I had made so many mistakes that night, and it was going to be a long night. And it was.

Things that went wrong from then on:
*He was on his balcony, saw a police officer skulking in the bushes below, and cursed at him.
*When I lied in his bed, he took all the pillows, but one.
*I gave in, and had pity sex with him.
*I topped.
*He moaned like a 12-year-old Asian hooker
*He made the most unusual “O Face”
*He kept complimenting my penis (which just embarrassed me)
*He did almost nothing to get me off.
Then..
*He “baby talked” me, afterwards.

I was astounded.
A FANTASTIC, mature, first date, turned into this nightmare of a second date, where, I didn’t even get to watch the movie I wanted to!.

I haven’t called him.

It’s almost comical how my luck with guys have been. FINALLY, I thought I met this amazing, mature, grounded, “real” man, who turned out to be this sob-story “fixer-upper” of a child. EVERY “man” that I end up dating turns out to be an emotional TRAINWRECK.

My question is:
Now that I’m ready to have a healthy, mature relationship, where on EARTH am I going to find someone who can measure up? Scratch that. Are there ANY men out there that have a goddamn head on their shoulders, who know what “mature” means?

I just went back and read what I just wrote, and the mere thought of the entire horrific night, is almost amusing.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems I had more fun when I was just as fucked up as the rest of “Gay Denver”.

“My lipgoss is cool, my lipgloss be poppin’. I’m standing at the door, and all the boys keep on stopping’.

Matty B.

You‘re My Prince Charming, Coming To Rescue Me? Apparently I Can Save Myself, Thank You.

“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Promise me you’ll call me tomorrow?”
“Promise.”

Four thousand, three hundred, and twenty minutes.
I mustered up the most convincing nonchalant voice I could, attempting to persuade his voicemail that I was in complete control of, not only my emotions, but that I was now a mature, attractive, successful adult. The sound of my voice was supposed to project my readiness to win him over, yet still have a confidant ease and playfulness. All within to appropriately timed voicemails, and one absolutely adorable Facebook wall message.

I haven’t heard from him in three days, and although I don’t think the same way I used to (emotional, upset, and generally emotionally dependant), I felt and irking feeling that something wasn’t right. It still doesn’t feel right. Normally, when I’m deliberately blown off, I get mad and upset. However, I feel this odd sense of calm about me.

I talked to my friend Maria, to help me recap that evening. She had spoken to him for about an hour, and she revealed to me, some things that I wasn’t aware of. Comparisons, fears of settling, fear of love, perhaps? I hear that there has to be more. As if he would be settling, by being with me. There’s bigger and better fish out there? There just has to be more out there, than Matty?

[pause.]

My typical reaction a year ago would have been outrage and indignation. Not so fast, Mr. Emotional. I take a step back and look at the entire situation as a whole.

In this week’s “Grey’s Anatomy” Taye Diggs wakes up one morning, and decides he wants to divorce his high school love. They’re both doctors, both successful, and both happy. They have a daughter, a practice in LA, and wonderful mutual friends. He just wakes up one morning, and decides that he wants more; he wants something else. So, they divorce.

Is it best that we not get involved at all? From the lack of returned phone calls, and blatant broken promise, it seems that he isn’t the person that I so desperately want him to be. It’s not like I’m asking things to be “how they were”. In fact, that’s the last thing that I want. What I want, is the learn who he is, now. What I want, is to fall in love with this new, mature person, that he’s come across as (disregarding the past three days). What I want, is him to be mature enough to have a real relationship. I want him to be fearless, and strong. This wonderful man, that I see him as. That I see him becoming.

I suppose all he knows right now, is to run and hide. Tough questions are asked, emotions run high, and he’s not sure how to handle them. So he disappears. Not the most mature route, but not completely uncharacteristic of him. I understand. In fact, I’m not too surprised. Maybe that’s I’m not mad or upset. I’m just disappointed. I guess I expected more from this “seasoned” man, that sat on the phone with me, until 4:30am.

He could have hung up, but he didn’t.
He had class mere hours after we ended our conversation, but he stayed and talked to me.

At the end of the episode, Taye Diggs realizes the massive mistake that he made, and as his ex-but-soon-to-be-wife-again walks by, he realizes that they are going to be okay. That he has an uncontrollable love for her. The difference? Taye stood up, and said something. He made the choice to be happy.

How do you measure, measure a year?

Downtown , Things Will Be Great. Downtown, Every Thing’s Waiting For You

His words were still ringing in my ears, as I try to recap what exactly had just happened. I stared up at the bright blue sky, and as the little wisps of cloud effortlessly moseyed, I blinked a few times, trying a recap why I was lying on pavement, and not walking back to my car.

When you mug somebody, it’s really a hit or miss. Pun intended. I mean, when you walk up to somebody and scream impolitely in their face, demanding that they give you their wallet, you’re really assuming a lot. I think that the amount of thought and observation, should really be quite extensive. Just because I have rockin’ white Dolce and Gabanna sunglasses, “must have” brown Bermuda shorts, Hawaiian shell necklace, beautiful shining chocolate hair, and overall projection of success, doesn’t mean I have a goddamn penny to my name. (To be, you must project, right?)

After patting my legs and explaining that the extent of my vast fortunes were the keys twirling on my finger (Chanel keychain and all), we just kind of stood there. I could very clearly see that he had no weapon, and in fact he most likely mustered up this genius plan on a whim. After a few moments of silence, he reached out, pushed me as hard as he could, and I assume he turned to run as fast as his scraggly legs could take him. Being the elongated, tall and lean person I am, I stumbled backwards, and fell over the back of a small cement wall, onto the gravel and pavement below. Thus, staring at the bright blue sky.

A few minutes later I hobbled to the car, where Ashley was jammin’ out to Channel 93.3, and smoking a cigarette. The trigger of my blood soaked left leg, and gash on the side of my right foot, sent her into a howling outrage. As I took one of the towels we were planning to use to sunbathe in the park, and wrapped it around my leg, Ash stormed around looking for the perpetrator.

I settled into my seat, perplexed and dazed; tuning out Ashley telling Danny what had just happened. He was just as phased as I was. Silent. In shock.

I sat in my bathtub and wiped my leg off, cringing with every pat. I kind of smiled to myself in disbelief, wrapped my appendages, and prepared to leave with some dignity. Five bandages and a pair of now-scratched-but-still-just-as-fabulous-as-they-were-an-hour-ago Dolce and Gabanna sunglasses later, I was sitting at the park, drinking a “Mikes Hard Lemonade” and finishing “Everyone Worth Knowing” by Lauren Weisberger.

It’s amazing how friends really show their true colors when they hear of your dismay. Ashley kicked it into high gear, bought gauze, bandages, and some liquor to… ease the pain. She coddled and loved me, making sure I was more than comfortable. I was so embarrassed that something like that could happen to someone like me, but she just washed away my worries, as we clinked our glasses together, and sipped our “Sex on the BETCH’s”. ( I thought it was appropriately re-named)

There was an abundance of incoming calls: My mother, my brother, my mother, Eric, Mehry, my mother, and Rebecca. The last one surprised me a bit. We had been estranged for quite sometime now, and I was pleasantly surprised that she showed genuine concern for my well being. We talked extensively, and I told her of my application to the Art Institute, my moving to Capitol Hill, and a general life update. It’s people like Rebecca, that can really make you smile. What’s unfortunate, is that trusted, better friends, can barely find a moment to shoot a text, then not reply.

So I tucked myself into bed, careful not to bother my very irritated body, but instead of thinking about what had happened that day, I just reminisced about the surprising and wonderful friends I didn’t think I had. I smiled to myself, hugged my pillow a little bit harder, and blinked out a tear, as I fell asleep.

I try to be like Grace Kelly
Matty B.

Five Hundred, Twenty Five Thousand, Six Hundred Minutes: How Do You Measure, Measure A Year?

Eleven months. Almost to the date.

Between drunken stupors, brief immature stints, or random fucks, I haven’t been in a real relationship for almost a year. As I start to pack my things, I keep coming across little pieces of my immediate past quietly slumbering in old boxes, bottom shelf of my pantry, and of course the frame next to my bed.

“Only thing to do, is jump over the moon.”

As I fold an old sheet set, and put it into a box re-marked [for the third time] “Crap I Should Throw Out, But Keep Moving Place To Place”, I just hum along to the “Rent” Soundtrack. My knees start to burn, and I adjust myself, so I’m sitting cross legged on the hardwood floors. No sooner did the cow, “Ellsey” proclaim the only thing she drank was diet coke, and I was back on my bed on 642 Ridge View Drive, smoking a cigarette, and being held so tight, by none other but Brady.

It’s like I’m looking into the past; my very own “La Vie Boehm.” I’ve acknowledged that I was foolish and immature in a lot of aspects of my life, then. I’ve not only accepted and made my peace with those around me, as well as with myself.

Flipping through old pictures, that didn’t make the cut to be on my “Wall of Friends”, I pause. The texture of the smooth photograph, is not unlike the a small area on the center of your back. The glow in your eyes is still there. The two lines next to the right side of your face, when you smile, still familiar. Your clean masculine scent still does the trick, leaving me to immediately think of you every time someone in passing sports the same cologne.

I scrunch my face up, run my hands through my now, thick and full brown and blonde hair, and shake my head, attempting to distract myself; etch-a-sketching the memory out of my head. Holding something back, I take a deep breath, and seal the fourth box with an unsatisfying rustle of my life being duct taped down. With Angel’s death, I seal away my past, only looking towards the future.

I sit in front of my vanity, and look directly into my own eyes. I know I’m ready. I know I’m ready to give an inch, hell a mile. I’ve amazed myself with the strides I’ve been taking to improve myself, to get here.

Just because I’m ready, it doesn’t necessarily mean he is. We originally broke up because of time management issues, and not being ready to fully dedicate ourselves to each other.
Even though he looks more mature, acts more mature, and overall seems a better person, do I try and force my way into someone’s heart, if they don’t know whether or not they are ready for that?
Isn’t that the best part of a relationship; of love? Sporadic, on a whim, dive in head first, completely consuming yourself with indescribable passion? Or should it be thought through, planned, and scheduled love. Either way, a relationship is going to be work.

The question is, which way is the standard means of obtaining a lasting love? Do you play by the books, or do you swan dive in?

"When I look into your eyes… Why does distance make us wise? I should tell you, I should tell you… I have always loved you-"

Matty B.