Busy Queen Bee
Working at the most popular gay club in Colorado defiantly puts you to the test. I spent the evening running around with an arm full of glasses, a headset full of people yelling for security to break up fights, certain bartenders yelling at me for more beer, and everyone and their mother grabbing my ass.
While working under extreme amounts of pressure may break people down, I find it exciting, and incredibly amusing. Although I have to do no-so-glamorous tasks every so often, I still find myself with a grin on my face at the end of the night.
I’ve been getting busier and busier lately, in an attempt to drown out any thoughts I may have about my friends, relationships, or family situations. Between working two jobs, trying to catch up on sleep and bills, I have been fairly successful. I haven’t had time to worry about what people think of me, because I’ve been having such a blast living life day-by-day.
My dear friend Nic and I had a wonderful brunch together a week or two ago. I was apparent that I had been completely overwhelmed by my first night working at TRACKS that previous evening, considering that I was in public wearing a purple sweatshirt, black sweat pants, green flip flops, and oversized sun glasses.
We got to sit down and talk about the crew: Steven, Eric, Nic, myself. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who could actively listen, and then provide feedback.
Steven suggested a few ways that I could improve myself; being less gay. To some degree, I know exactly what he’s talking about. No one likes a raging queen. Girl, I know I don’t. However, in the gay community I see a lot of guys snapping their fingers, and screaming “hay grill!” at the tops of their lungs, and while I admit to doing that from time to time, I also see how fake it is.
Growing up, everyone knew I was gay. Lets be real here; when I open up my mouth, a drag queen falls out and kicks you in the face. When I was younger I would always baby sit my little brother’s friends, and they would always ask me,” Matt, why don’t you talk in your normal voice?”
At the age of 13, and a freshman in high school, that’s a hard thing to hear. Living in the wet social rectum of Colorado (Longmont) surrounded my faggot hating, boot wearers, was tough enough as it was. The fact that I had a queeny woman voice that I just couldn’t shake, added insult to injury.
I don’t feel like writing anymore.
I get a lot of demands to update my blog. I know all my friends read it. (whether or not they are talking to me)
You know what? It’s not fir to me for everyone to be reading my life. Especially when I don’t want to write about it, at the moment.
If you’re reading this, and you want to know what’s going on with me, you are going to have to pull your shit together and fucking ask me.
What happens when I’m tired of being that great friend to everyone else, and I have NO ONE to return the favor?
I stop writing.
Matty B.
