W.W.J.D? W.W.E.W.D?

It seems that it’s been a rough few weeks for a lot of people. While standing in the print shop today at school, I overheard one of the staff members talking to a friend of hers about how she hasn’t spoken with her dad in almost a week because she told him that she was a lesbian. Right before I finished my cigarette two hours earlier, I over heard a skinny blonde boy talking to his friends about how no matter what he does, he just can’t seem to get his boyfriend to open up to him. [Girl, I hear you.]

Over the past few days, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything that has been going wrong in my life: My continuing feud with my roommate, my immense amount of work followed by an abysmal pay, the fact that I didn’t have time to be with the friends and family that I love most, all topped off by the continuous addition of school work that appears to be endless.

When I feel like I need encouragement or motivation, I turn to my true hero: Elle Woods. Although a fictional character of the popular movie, book, and Broadway show “Legally Blond”, I feel that the way Amanda Brown captured the pure optimism of this woman is absolutely inspiring, and can be applied to real-life; my life.

Like Elle, I like to think that no one gets anywhere in life with a shitty attitude. And you know what? We’re right! You’d be very surprised how far a kind word and a friendly gesture can go. You can easily turn someone’s day around with a smile and a compliment. My friends know this. In fact I have two that know exactly what to say, to make me feel better. Unfortunately for me, one is very busy being a fabulous waiter “Hamburger Mary’s”, and the other is quite the drive to visit.

So, What Would Elle Woods Do? Would she bend and snap? How about an exfoliating facial cleanser? Better yet, what does Barbie do when she’s not seeing Ken anymore, She’s been working all day in 6” heels, and it feels like she’s made of cold, hard, plastic?

After my date with Mr. Constrictor, I felt like I was an empty shell of myself. I sat in the cab and thought about the previous night’s events. Flashbacks of him telling me,” You’re so gorgeous, I deserve you. You’re so fuckin’ hot. Get on my bed. Take off your pants.-” were all too overwhelming. Isn’t that what I want? A man who takes control, knows what he wants, who makes good money, and lives in LoDo?

I stood frozen in the shower, absolutely blank. The thought of me lying there expressionless was more than familiar. As I sat on my balcony and smoked a cigarette, I couldn’t feel a damn thing. I still can’t. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me two hours to write an entry.

When does it get better? Ever since I was a kid, everyone I know tells me that it’ll get better. Give it a few years, it’ll be amazing. Well, I’m days from being an official adult, and it has yet to kick in. I’ve missed my entire summer, because I’ve been stressing, working, and attempting to pull my life together enough to get a full night’s rest.
I can’t even enjoy the things I used to, because I’ve been so manic. At least while I was dating Mr.Revenge, he brought be back. Being a complete child wasn’t ALL bad, with him; he still knew how to have fun. He could lie around all day, and not have a care in the world. I can’t even finish a cigarette without thinking about whether or not I’ll have money to buy another pack.

I think I’m a bit over due for a vacation. Perhaps a few personal days. All I know is that I need to get out of my head, and spend more time with people that can make that possible.

Robot, why are you so robotic?
Matty B.

Art Smart?

One of the biggest appeals of entering college was finally being treated like an adult. Little did I know, most of my teachers were either brand new and had no idea what they were talking about, or had taught the class so many times that they were completely distracted by their personal life, and had no intention or desire to give us the education that we sold our kidney’s to afford.

I walked into my Digital Media and Design class at 7:26am, and sat down at a computer, half way to the back of the class room. I wanted to make sure that I was close enough to see the projection screen, but far enough away from the teacher to discretely check MySpace and Connexion. The first thing out of her mouth was, “Who are you, and what on earth are you doing in my class?” I raised my gracefully arched eyebrow at her and replied,” I’m Matty B. I missed the first class, because of an error in my FASFA, and I wasn’t allowed to attend class, until it was figured out.”

While she stared at me blankly with her eyes glossed over, a dribble of drool delicately dripped from the side of her mouth. So I did what any American person would do when presented with the problem of talking to someone that appears to have a hard time understanding the basic words that are you coming out of your mouth; I repeated myself slowly and loudly.

I signed in, and sat down at my desk as she droned about how to use Microsoft Word. As she handed out the daily assignment, she started to present a Power Point Presentation about the history of camera’s. I reminded her that we weren’t in a photography, and that she was teaching A digital media course. She apparently realized that she wasn’t showing the right presentation, and instructed us to take a break.

As I smoked down my third cigarette of the day, I thought about al the previous teachers and professors I had had in the past. Growing up, my teachers have instilled two major rules in my life: Treat others the way you want to be treated, and if you wish to be treated like an adult, you must act like an adult.

What if the adults in your life act like children? Short tempered, poor people skills, and a complete density to what’s going on around them? While at an institution of learning, there’s a standard of how the professors should act, right? WRONG. In between power trips, and complete ignorance to the fact that they actually have to PREPARE for a class, the art of teaching has been completely lost.

I look for inspiration in my life. I associate my self with people that will make me a better person, or at least will direct me in that direction. Through friends and family, I seek intelligence, humor, and life. That’s why I attended the Art Institute of Colorado. I heard that it was full of cutting edge professors who had a passion for teaching.

I was wrong.

Instead, it’s full of money grubbing teachers who are stuck “teaching” classes they don’t want to. Passion? I think not. More like punishment.

Remember when art meant something?

Matty B.

Bittersweet Symphony

They say that a good thing never lasts. And so far, it’s proven to be true. Am I one of those people that try and materialize something out of nothing? Convince myself that there’s a possibility for happiness with this person that I hardly know? I’m not one to place all my money in one bet, but I am someone that will put an investment towards something that has hopeful potential.

Mr. Revenge and I recently called it quits. Things were going amazingly, we had a blast together, we saw each other quite frequently, and when I was with him, it felt like home. So what was the problem, you ask? The problem is that he felt the same way about me, as I did about him. And for him, that was a terrifying concept. The last thing he said to me was, “I’m just meant to be single. I can’t handle all of this. I‘m done with us.” After realizing that he was breaking up with me, I immediately hung up on him. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing my reaction.

It’s funny to look back at the course of our very brief relationship, and attempt to recognize what exactly made me think that it could work out. He’s a 23 year-old grungy drug addict, who’s not only never had a real relationship in his entire life, but only has one real friend, whom he talks shit about when she’s not around. I try and date older men because they’re supposed to be mature, and in control of their life; pulled together if you will. However, that wasn’t the case, in this instance.

You know, the best part of Mr. Revenge, was that I felt like a kid again. I felt like I was in high school, I could go crazy, have fun, laugh, roll around in the hay, and it was alright. It was the most honest thing I felt in the past year, and it was great, no matter how short-lived.

This isn’t the only relationship that’s ended abruptly because it was “too good to be true”. After Brady and I broke up, his reasoning of staying separated was,” This can’t be it. I can’t spend the rest of my life with my high school sweetheart.” You’re right, that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen, because people won’t let it. He didn’t want to get married, go to college together, have three children, two cars, and a beautiful home, because that’s what his parents did. God forbid, he turn out like his parents: Happy, successful, and loving every minute of their life.

Since when did the “American Dream” become such a nightmare? Is it really that scary that people might actually want children, and a husband? I’ve talked to a few of my gay friends, and that’s the last thing on their mind. It’s almost a stigma to want such a nuclear lifestyle. While I sit here and write about relationships, their out doing poppers and getting fucked in an alleyway. Not that I’m saying that I’m against that behavior, but how is it, that an entire generation can give up on love so easily?

I try and pass the time by watching a season of Sex and the City. I’ve always been considered the “Samantha” of our group of friends, however it feels like lately I’ve been a bit worn out by the whole idea, all together. Maybe it’s been all the lack luster sex I’d been having. Or maybe it was just the horrible dates with a dozen assholes in the past few months, that threw me off my usually predatory behavior. But overall, I’ve just become bored with the whole scene.

As I talk more and more to my friends, it seems that there are very few of us that have idealistic views on relationships, and the future. It’s almost taboo to not be taboo. What do you mean you haven’t had sex in three months? What? You’ve never had sex in the TRACKS bathroom while high on coke? Everyone I know has! Everyone is attracted to drama. Let’s be honest here. I’d rather be reading Perez Hilton, than the wedding announcements in the local newspaper. I want to see grungy dirty sex, and people throwing drinks at each other! Give me some skanky red head with a drug addiction over Oprah any day!

At the end of the day though, I begin to realize that I begun to find a healthy balance. I’m not Samantha, fucking everyone that shoots me a friendly smile. However, I’m not that “insta-boyfriend” who feels they need to be in a relationship, either.

I’m not prefect, but I’m getting there. Until then, you’ll see me out there with open arms, and an open heart.


You want all my love and my devotion
Matty B.

Sweet Sweet Sweet Sweet Fire in the Street

11:02 am. I bolted upright, and as I tried to escape my impending death, I got tangled in the sheets, and fell hopelessly to the ground. The screeching alarm was deafening. I quickly grabbed a pair of underwear off my floor, followed by a t-shirt and some disgusting sweats. I scooped up my keys, laptop, and cigarettes, quickly brushed my teeth, and started hiking the six floors down, to the lobby.

It seems that someone on the third floor thinks that grilling in their living room at 11 am in the morning, is a good idea. As I walk into Panera bread, which is located in the first floor of my building, I notice that no one is even phased by the flashing lights, and deafening fire alarms going off. Everyone is eating their salads, as if nothing is happening, completely ignoring the fact that there could be someone burning alive just feet above them.

As I order my usual coffee, and take my place in the leather chair that I always sit in, I try to go about my business as usual. Open my computer, start it up… but I can’t help but be slightly thrown off by the fact that everyone is to distracted by their own lives, to realize that something real is happening. People on their cell phones, drinking their coffee, yelling about contracts… it’s exactly the type of person that I don’t want to be.

How do you know when you’ve become so involved with yourself, that you don’t even notice the world or people around you? Over the past few months I have to admit, I’ve been incredibly busy with school, working until my fingers bleed, and attempting to have a social life, so yes I became one of those people. Until recently.

I met Mr.Revenge at Denver Pride, this year. He grew up with my hairstylist, and is in school right now to become one as well. Kara introduced him to me, while I was dancing my heart out to DJ Heckler, and was looking less than appealing. He seemed real cool, but I was a bit intoxicated and distracted by the music, so I danced on my merry way.

Back at the apartment, Kara gave me a call. Apparently she was at the bar across the street, and wanted to come up. I was delighted to hear from her, so I went down and got her and Mr.Revenge. Since sobering up, he started to look a bit more appealing. He was even kind of funny, which I was surprised by. Who would’ve thought that there are men out there that are attractive AND funny?

We hit it off pretty quick. Kara wasn’t feeling well, so I cooked her some food. She decided to go home, and I was definitely disappointed, because I wanted to spend more time with Mr.Revenge, but she was his ride back to Loveland. After a quick phone call to Ashley, I offered him a ride home later the next day, if he wanted to stay. He happily accepted.

We talked all night. I laid in his arms, and we shared everything about each other. He told me his life. No one has ever been so upfront with me about things before. He had a very intimidating first impression, however feeling his body on mine, getting him to laugh, sharing cigarettes with him; it was the perfect first meeting.

And then there was the morning after. I dread morning after’s. I look like a train hit me. Doesn’t matter if I’ve been drinking, smoking, partying, or just had a quiet night. When I wake up in the morning, I AM NOT CUTE. I looked into his eyes. He brushed my tangled hair out of my face, and kissed me. He was as beautiful as ever. Messy hair, grin on his face. We got dressed, because I had to get him home at a decent hour.

The entire drive home, he had his hand either in mine, or on my leg. We stopped for coffee and gas, and flew down i25 to get him home. I thought about him for the rest of the day. And I saw him the next.

I don’t know what it is about him, but it’s a bit unsettling. All I know is that unlike the people around me, not only am I going to see this fire, but I’m going to let it burn.

“The queens of the court grin under a delicate fan-”
Matty B.

Out And Proud

The dictionary defines the word Pride, as the state or feeling of being proud. I can safely say that everyone at this years Pride Festival 2007 was exuding that, and then some.

The music was amazing. Although the weather was unbearable and water was no where to be found, the fabulous fagulations of Denver were dancing their little hearts out. The hot weather, hot music, and hot men were almost overwhelming. However, I found that there was one thing that could cool me down from all the heat: my little purple paper bracelet.

The funny thing about alcohol, is that you seem to loose all your inhibitions... if you drink enough, that is. After my fourth Cranberry Stoli and what they were calling "PRIDE"'s, I seemed to escape the heat.. as well as half of my clothing.

Every year I absolutely look forward to PRIDE Fest. Lets be real here: This is my Christmas. I just delve myself in glitter and alcohol, whip out my flags, and dance my heart out.

DJ Heckler was amazing as usual. Although i didn't get to follow up with him at Vynil , i soaked up every last second that the DJ's spun.

To say the least, it was what was to be suspected.

Would it be perfect?
Matty B.

If These Walls Could Talk

I love to go into other people’s houses. I find that one of the best parts of meeting someone new, is being able to go into their house, and see how it’s decorated. Let’s be honest here: I’ve seen my fair share of bedrooms, however every time I walk into one, it’s completely different.

I went over to AJ’s house, a couple of months ago. He’s a 29 year-old black man that lives in the Denver Dry Lofts (only doors down from an old friend of mine, Steven). What’s so great about this building, is that it’s completely renovated, styled and painted very modern with tan carpets and beige walls, accented with stainless steel, and overlooks the breath taking Downtown Denver. However, they couldn’t be more differently decorated.

From what I remember (and it’s been months since I’ve visited Steven’s house), his apartment was VERY minimalist. He had two perfectly rectangular modern black futon-style couches facing each other, a glass coffee table in the middle, with a book of photography placed in the center, a smaller glass end table with three candle votives, a glass dining room table, and a chair next to the window, complete with ashtray, for guests. His bedroom was a bed pushed to the center of the far wall, beige down comforter, a light army-green accent throw and a cherry beside table with matching bookcase and bureau. He had three framed pictures of Lindsay Lohan cut from a magazine, and a photograph of all of us on his shelf.

What does his apartment say to me? Professional homosexual who (sometimes) strives for cleanliness and order. Everything has it’s place in his apartment, not unlike the people in his life. Not very sporadic and very un-lived in… almost secret. It exudes a magazine-apartment feel. An interesting perspective, but I adore his apartment, to say the least.

AJ’s apartment was the complete opposite. Clutter everywhere. The apartment was very African tribal art meets business bohemian. Dark leather couches, tapestry’s over everything. Covered in tribal art, floor to ceiling. Smelled of weed and sensual massage oil. The only thing better than his very passionate sex, was what I learned about him through his apartment. It was like I window into his soul: He loved to live in his passions. Very urban and very interesting.

It’s boggling how two apartments that are exactly the same, lived in by two gay men, could be so completely different. I am a personal believer that my home says a lot about me. Whether it be clean or dirty, minimal or cluttered; it speaks lengths about who I am.

Chad and I just moved to a new apartment together in the Downtown/ Capitol Hill area. Gorgeous downtown views, remodeled apartment, minimal lobby and elevators. He was the first person to start unpacking. I go to school and work full time, so I took a few days to pull myself together before opening the first box.

When I came home from work today, his room was finished, and the living room was cleared. There’s an oversized sofa, my television, and my CD player. Other than that, it’s completely BAREN. I talked it over with him, I’m we’re both very excited to hang pictures and art all over the walls. I’m very excited to make this art to put on the walls.

Where we differ, is our bedrooms. His is very similar to Steven’s. Since I am such an expressive person, I have a hard time understanding how someone could find comfort in such an empty room. I am such a loud and outgoing person, that my room screams red tan and maroon. There’s art already on the walls, accompanied by my favorite movie and signed band posters. You walk into my bedroom, and you immediately know what my favorite color is, what my favorite bands are, and what my favorite movie is. Hell, you even know my clothing style, what my friend’s look like, and what I like to do (I have an entire desk FULL of art supplies).

You walk into Chad’s room, and you see his bed, his night stand and a computer desk. I live with the man, and see his everyday, and I still have 101 questions to ask.

What does that say about Chad and I? We’re complete opposites. I am a very in-your-face, hey-how-are-ya, I’m Matty B, welcome to my life, sort of guy. Chad on the other hand is very introverted, quiet and reserved. Although we’ve hit a few bumps in the road, I know that I’m going to learn a ton from this guy. Maybe how to be a bit more mysterious. Maybe he’ll learn to relax and lighten up a bit; have some fun, meet new people.

As far as personality goes, is it better to be upfront and honest with people? Perhaps a little “too” friendly? Or is it better to be reserved? Wait for people to talk to you, hold back and let the others live life aggressively?

Either way I think that you have to find a balance. Hopefully Chad will be that for me.

Matty B.

Bug-A-Boo

It’s interesting what people’s true intentions are. My most recent fling, Mark III (this is the third Mark that I’ve fooled around with in the past few months.) said to me last night,” Everyone’s always contradicting themselves. No one can keep an opinion.” And you know what? I have to agree with him. However, he was just saying that to get me to come over and have sex with him. Seemingly, it worked.

I was sitting at school working on a project, when his little “Connexion IM Window” popped up onto my screen. He started off by complimenting me, commenting my “decked out” profile, being mildly witty and humorous, while slipping in his little sexual innuendos. I immediately saw his game. Just like my Connexion profile says,” The only reason why you’re looking at my page, is either because you want to fuck me, or because you hate me.” Clearly it was the former.

I immediately told him that I was not looking for a hook-up. (It’s this new fad that I’m trying: not being a slut.) It was suggested that maybe I should consider possibly having a relationship. Apparently, my friends think that I should do more talking and learning about the man I‘m interested in, and less fucking. It seems that that’s the route to a healthy relationship; IE: not putting out on the first date.

You see, I don’t have a problem with relationships. In fact, I love being in them. I enjoy the idea of being able to rely on someone for something, even if it’s only accompaniment. The problem isn’t that I don’t want a relationship per say, I just have yet to meet anyone worth spending an extensive amount of time with. I’m having a hard enough time adjusting to the limited amount of time I’m spending with my roommate, Chad., much less nursing a new relationship.

After about an hour of talking, him attempting to seduce me (I found it incredibly amusing), and him beating around the bush, he just came out with it. He was cute and intelligent, and worked teaching theater to under-privileged kids, so this guy had to have a head on his shoulders. I told him to meet me in front of the Art Institute at 11:30pm.

He pulled up in a little red Tercel ( the same car my dear friend Ashley drives/ shares with me) and got out of the car. He was bigger than I was ( a little overweight, pretty hairy, defiantly bear-esque; but I was into it.), beautiful eyes, gorgeous smile, and this rugged masculine voice that gave me a stir in my little red briefs. We first talked about how he DID NOT want a relationship, and was just looking for someone regular to have come over. I wasn’t so sure about him, but we continued. We then talked about art and why I moved out so young (everyone asks), and after about half an hour I was getting tired, and asked to go home with him. He was thrilled.

So far, so good?

I get to his apartment, and the walls are painted all these different colors. I flash back to my grandma living in a downtown Boulder Co-Op. It feels like I should be getting ready to do yoga (considering every position I was in that night, I might as well have). He makes his bed, and we lie down to go to sleep. However, he had other plans.

The first thing that made me think twice was how he didn’t want me to take off my underwear. Not the weirdest fetish, but interesting nonetheless.

The second thing, was his back hair. I ignored it.

The third thing was how he (and I quote) “Am a totally natural guy. I use olive oil as a lubricant.” Wait- what?

I did NOT get fucked that night. Thank you, but oil will break down a condom and render it useless, as well as, I’m not a Brochette. I don’t need to be covered in oil and served to this Italian man.

Finally, I didn’t find it at all satisfying. His penis didn’t live up to the Italian name, and he was very awkward in bed. (although I am thin and look light, I am 6’4”, and NOT. You can’t just flip me any which way… I have long limbs) It was overall 2 ½ stars, and I don’t think that I would be into seeing him again.

The next morning we grabbed a coffee in the Panera Bread, that it’s underneath my apartment building. He immediately told me that he wanted to see me again. I stopped mid-sip. I turned to him and told him that even though he was a nice guy, had beautiful eyes, and was… interesting, he wasn’t my type. (I can’t see myself spending a lot of time with him, and in fact the time I did spend with him was borderline taupe. The overall experience was “all right”.)

The tables had turned. He suddenly wanted to date, and I suddenly did not. I found the entire situation kind of ironic and a little funny, until I checked my Connexion Inbox. Three emails in two hours telling me about how he wanted to see me again and had a great time. Compliments get you far with me, but you can’t persuade someone to be date you. ( I learned that the hard way)

It seems that when all I want is a hook up, all I get is a phone full of text messages and an inbox full of emails; while whenever I want to pursue dating someone, all I get is either no response, or a polite brush off (and then there are the emotionally unstable one’s that we won’t even get into).

So the question is:
Do I lower my standards and start dating someone that I don’t see/ want to have feelings for and just date, for the sake of dating? Or do I hold out for some interesting, beautiful person that may or may not exist?

Fully alive? (I love life)
Matty B.

I just wrote another blog, containing how childish and what an asshole David is.
To read it, click HERE

But because we're not friends anymore David, You can't read it.
♥


"Thank you. Because NOW I Can Hate You" - The movie, CLOSER
Matty B.

You Are Who You Sleep With

The scene was perfect. As I walked into the very popular “Hamburger Mary’s” (An Uptown predominately gay restaurant) I immediately saw a dozen or so people that I knew. Greetings were exchanged; Hugs and kisses galore. The music switched, and Paris Hilton started singing about how she could what your girlfriend does, so much better.

Then I run into David. He’s sitting with his small boyfriend, Clayton. Apparently they were having drinks at Mary’s after going to Sushi. Eric called David’s new boy a tart. [Good use of the word, Eric!] There were comments about his hair and scruffy face.

What really got to me, though, was how impossibly rude his little man was. I was looking very good (He was not). I had a big beautiful white smile on my face (he was not). I was polite, and even made a joke (again, he was not). Being in this little, sad person’s presence was just horrifying. Ashley turned to me and made a gesture for the door.

I immediately made an excuse to leave, and I did (but not before making my rounds saying goodbye, and exiting with grace).

As I walked down the street towards my car, I couldn’t help but having this horrible bitter taste in my mouth. I immediately shrugged it off, and started laughing at the so-called “gorgeous guy”. Hey, If he was allowed to be mean, then so was I.

It’s funny when you run into old fucks, and past flings. Especially when you are so well put together. You see them now, and you have an immeasurable wave of disappointment come over you. Suddenly you’re thinking: “What on earth made me think that someone like THAT would be a good idea?” I was talking to Ashley, and she kept asking me what even attracted me to him. Like usual, she said that I was too pretty for the guy that I was seeing.

It’s really hard to find someone that is completely equal to you. I know that whenever I go “Husband Hunting” on the Gaytabase, I’m looking for someone who is as attractive, mature, and pulled together as I am (No luck so far). Because it is VERY true, you are who you date.

I know that when I was dating Jeremy (who was a total and complete asshole) I was a total and complete asshole. When I barely dated David (who was a total and complete mess) I was a total and complete mess. When I dated JJ ( who was a self righteous stingy fucker) I was a righteous stingy fucker.

It’s interesting how different relationships bring out different things in you. I know that when I was dating Brady, I brought out a happiness and a fun side to him, and he did; me. Basically, when you start a new relationship, you’re two blank canvasses. What color you decide to pain each other, is up to you.

I Don’t Give A Damn About My Reputation [I don’t give a FUCK]
Matty B.

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.

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.