“I Will Follow You Into The Dark”

Everyone will always remember their first love. The all-consuming, perfect paradise dream, is too hard to forget. After the burn of the initial break up, you occasionally think about what could have been. I’ll be honest and say that I’ve thought about maybe in the future it could be possible to get back together. I’m not lying in my bed pining away the hours and minutes until then, but it’s a nice thought every so often. The last thing I said to him the night we broke up was, “Come back to me, Brady. Promise me that you’ll come back to me.” And part of me always thought that he would.

Until recently, Brady and I have managed a pseudo-friendship that consisted of random sporadic phone calls in the middle of the night, and periodic connexion emails. He invited me to a party a few months ago, and since then, I’ve felt we’ve reconnected as friends. I know that if I ever needed anything from him, I can always call. And lately, I have.

I was going through some tough stuff the other night, and sent him a text him some time after midnight. He answered; asking me what was going on. I told him how I was feeling towards some of my friends, and that I could use some advice. He of course told me I was a great friend, and that I just haven’t found people with the depth to satisfy what I’m looking for. Perfect answer, as far as I’m concerned. (I adlibbed a bit, to make him appear a bit more insightful.)

While having a conversation with him yesterday, I noticed that he was a bit down. Naturally, I asked him what was wrong. He responded with an email decribing in full detail. (If only he could have been so literate while we were dating!) His health has been on the decline lately, and I was concerned when I read as to why. Here is a small excerpt from it:

“Went to the doctor and its a mix of three things:
*A couple canker sores in there...
*Herpes type 1, so a very bad case of cold sores.
*a severe infection of Infantygus (sp?) which has gotten into the sores and started eating away at them, and around them.
I have to take 4 things for it... one pill every 4 hours, another pill three times a day, a stronger version of ibuprofin for the swelling, and a really nasty mouthwash that tastes like a mix of appletini and dental flouride. Ugh...

Just incredibly frustrating because first and foremost, I LOVE food. And my mom has had some of the BEST dinners this week. *cry*
Its spring break but there wont be any sex for another 10 days minimum, but even then Doni will be back in the Springs by then...
And today is his birthday and Im not even allowed to kiss him. And forget about the Birthday Blowjob. (lol)”

I was speechless and outraged at the same time. When I met Brady, he was this virginal boy who was a bit socially awkward in high school, totally cute, but didn’t even know it. He was my exact type: Hot Gay Nerd. One of his greatest appeals was that he wasn’t tainted by the gay world. I didn’t have to worry about STD’s, HIV, or anything that is spelled with all capitol letters.

I immediately called him. He assured me that it was Herpes Type 1, that wasn’t an STD. He also assured me, that the bacterial infection was caused by the cold sores. Though a bit freaked out, I was glad to hear that he wasn’t an incubus of sexually transmitted diseases. This relief only led me to ask more questions about his sexual practices. I wanted to reassure myself that he was always being safe. He said that 97% of the time he was. That’s when I asked him about the **** incident. ( I replaced his name with stars, because he didn't appreciate the use of his real name.)

MattyB.: there has been a leak of STD's on Campus

MattyB.: between you giving **** the clap, a close friend of ours having the clap/gono combo, and a kid we ALL know having HPV... it’s getting scary on campus. Boarderline terrifying.

MattyB.: i've never had the experience (of having an STD), because i've always been SUPER safe. I just want other people to be safe as well. It just breaks my heart to see my friends go through this.

JustB: ME and ****?... As far as Im concerned we have nothing in common

MattyB.: ooh

MattyB.: didn't you give him the clap and tell him on his birthday?

MattyB.: (not to sound accusatory)

JustB: no

JustB: Is that what he says?

MattyB.: oooh

MattyB.: tsk tsk tsk

MattyB.: DID you ever have it?

JustB: no

JustB: lol

MattyB.: don't lie to me Brady Knittle

JustB: I solemnly swear

MattyB.: oh man.

MattyB.: I’m calling you right now to get the full story.

It seems that STD’s aren’t the only thing infecting CU’s Campus. Lies and deceit are plaguing the school as well. It crushes me to hear that **** would say something like that. After Monday’s brutal brush off, I almost wasn’t surprised. I don’t want to sound accusatory or mean, I was just hurt by his actions, and also hurt that he would say something like that about a very good friend of mine.

I’m a very firm believer that when you are dating (or just fucking) a sexually inexperienced person (or any person for that matter), you need to leave them in better condition than when you met them. That means ALWAYS using protection, being COMPLETELY honest with them about your sexual history, and to NEVER emotionally lead them on. I felt so jaded and heart broken by the boy who took my virginity, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t ever put anyone else through the same emotional torment.

I was 110% honest with Brady while we dated. Although I had some doubts about his honesty towards to the end of our relationship, he tells me he was always faithful, and I choose to believe him. It’s the only time I’ve ever loved someone, and in my mind, I need it to be real. The idea of the only person I’ve ever loved cheating on me, is more to bear than I wish to.

One of the big reasons why Brady and I broke up was because he felt that he needed to get out there and get more experience. Maybe I didn’t have the opportunity to get kinky with him, or maybe he has a fetish that he was embarrassed to talk to me about (we all know it wasn’t water sports! He can’t pee with the bathroom door open, unless he knows there’s no one home). Either way, he wanted to get out there and date a little bit. He realized there was a big world of men, and at the time, I wasn’t opposed to spicing up my seemingly droll sex life. I was sixteen, and he was eighteen. He wanted to go be a crazy freshman in college, and have those crazy freshman experiences. If I loved him, I’d have to let him go. So I did.

And he definitely had some experiences. One of which still biting at his ankles.

I just think that break ups are hard enough without telling lies, and making things up. If everyone was a little more honest in life (and in bed) I think that we would all be a little bit happier. Don’t you agree?

“If Heaven and Hell Decide That They Both Are Satisfied”

Matty B.

"I'm Hung Up."

I acted a damn fool, to say the least. 9 :45am. I woke up with Monday’s beautiful sunlight burning on to my face. I shut my blinds, grabbed my Helio, and checked my message status. 18 unread messages flashed across the screen. I threw it back onto the desk that was standing alongside the bed I had been sleeping in.

I slid my legs over the edge, and hopped off. The thud of my feet hitting the cold floor radiated through my body, sending stars in front of my eyes, and a burn behind my eye. I stood there naked in the silent dorm room. I padded lightly over to the bathroom door, and drew water from the faucet. I swallowed a gulp or two, and made the mental note to never drink again.

Jeff stirred in the bed across the room from mine. He was wearing all of his clothes, including his brown clunky shoes. I thought it strange, not only that he was fully dressed, but also that he was sleeping across the room. Usually when we spend the night together, we share a bed, resulting in my spooning him all night. I unsuccessfully tried to recall my evening. We started drinking earlier that afternoon. Then I cropped naked pictures of Jeff, which a mutual friend of ours took. Then we drank more. Then we walked across campus to visit a friend of ours. My last memory was that of taking a rip from his “steam roller,” and telling his friend that he wasn’t heterosexual (he’s a musical theater major).

Jeff soon awoke, and laughed when I asked him why I was naked. Apparently, I came onto him, inviting him to get him to get naked with me. I do not remember such happenings; however also do not recall getting home, or removing my clothes.

I’ll be honest and say that I was hoping something would happen. I mean, he’s not shy about be naked around me, we’ve spent many nights together, he’s always talking about how he hasn’t gotten any birthday sex, and we have this on going joke about how everyone is always asking us when we’re getting together. Today even, I was asked if we had gotten together yet.

I was a little hurt to be turned down, even if I don’t remember giving it up to begin with.

Not to mention I’ve had an ongoing infatuation with him, and was thinking the exact same thing our mutual friends were. When ARE we getting together?

He told me he was going to visit his sister. While he was in the bathroom, my Helio alerted me of a text message. When I picked it up to read it, I in fact saw that it wasn’t my Helio, but his. And that he wasn’t going to hang out with his sister, but was blowing me off so he could get stoned with our friend Cory. When we left his dorm, he almost didn’t lock it. To me, that’s a sign he was coming back very soon. Second, he took a whole two minutes to get ready to leave. That girl takes almost more time to get ready than I do. He then walked all the way across campus with me, and kept trying to usher me onto a bus. I told him that I would wait for his to come, so he wouldn’t have to sit alone.

At first I was angry at his behavior. Perhaps it was because of my erratic behavior the previous night. Perhaps it was that I passed out almost immediately when I got in his bed, and didn’t cuddle with him. Either way, I just find myself feeling foolish at the end of the day, for feeling the way I do about him. He has so many qualities about him that I personally find unattractive, and I know he has no attraction for me, yet I’m always putting myself out there. It’s exhausting.

I did however; start talking to someone that I lightly dated a while back. I let it fall apart because of my busy schedule, and lack of “spark.” I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t have to chase him. Maybe it’s because he didn’t chase me. I don’t have some revelation and life lesson regarding this matter. Nothing to bring it all together. I have a felling this is the first of a two part series.

I think I am going to have to spend a few nights sleeping on it.

"You Heard What I Said Boy, I want You In My Bed!"

Matty B.

“I Don’t See What Anyone Can See In Anyone Else. …But You.”

Part One:

His expression was of pure ecstasy. He was quietly panting; his chest repeatedly swelled and relaxed. A few candles had been lit earlier that evening that gleamed off the sweat that accumulated on his face and the little beads of perspiration collected all across his body. He stared down at me, a look of mixed curiosity and intrigue flicked across his face. I came up close to him, making eye contact. His nervousness and uncertainty was over powered by his licentious interest and newfound sexual desire. I touched his cheek, and he touched my back. I touched his arm; he looked down, and then smiled. It was suddenly silent, which stopped him for a moment while he turned to switch records.

I met him for the first time earlier that evening. I was drunk and stoned, and was brought to his house, so that my friends could buy an eighth of weed. When we arrived, he was sitting in his room, mixing music, and playing with his turntables. With one side of his headphones on, he flicked and played with both records, sending them into a glitch-pop frenzy. I sat on the couch across the room from him, while Heather and I vibed and grooved to the telepop beats. We sat there smoking out of his bong, and just laughed the night away, dancing to the music, while I frequently caught him stealing glances. He blushed every time. .

As we were leaving, he told us that he was playing at a party the following night, and that we should all come. He then gave me his phone number, and told me to text him so he had it. I winked at him, and told him I would. Shortly afterwards, I recived this text:

“Yo im really into spinnin at the moment. Ur welcome to come chill if u want. I’ll show you my new mix. Then… you can let me know if you like it.”

I was surprised by how quickly he wrote back to me. On the other hand, I was wearing skintight straight-leg jeans, a green Volcom hoodie, and have long dark hair (styled and teased), with matching scene make up. Perhaps a bit androgynous in style, but apparently that seemed to strike his fancy. I hopped in my jeep, and headed back to his house.

He was a bit awkward. Perhaps that’s what initially attracted me. He was still sitting at his turntables, when I walked in the door. The only thing different about the setting was that candles had been lit, the lights were low, and there was incense burning. If I knew any better, I’d have thought that his hair was combed, and he was wearing a different t-shirt.

I sat on his bed, across from his turntables. I closed my eyes, and I listened to him spin. In complete honesty, he wasn’t half bad. You could tell how much he loved his music, by the delicacy of his touch on his records, and the deliberate timing with each edit and rip. It was an art form that you could not only hear, but you could see it as well.

He asked if I was comfortable. I told him to come sit next to me. He paused, set his headphones next to his records, and walked over. He looked down at me, half-smiled, and then sat. The record skipped, and he abruptly got up to fix it. He asked me if I wanted a drink. I asked him for a martini. He replied that he only had beer and vodka. Apparently he didn’t quite understand what went into a martini. I told him I would have vodka on the rocks. He laughed and asked if I wanted a chaser. I responded that I wasn’t in high school taking shots of McCormick’s and that I drink liquor to appreciate the quality, rather than get wasted. He looked at me for a moment, smiled, and fetched me a drink.

I love that it burned as it went down, taking the edge off. He too chose to drink a vodka on the rocks, which he clearly had never tried, by the expression on his face. I laughed and told him that it would take some getting used to. He shrugged and set down his drink, moving closer to me; the loud clink of the glass silenced the room. He looked at me for a moment. I smiled when he touched my leg.

“I’ve never done-”

“I figured.” I replied.

I however, have in fact done this before. Luckily for both of us, I knew what I was doing. I think that it put him at ease knowing that I wasn’t nervous or indecisive. I leaned in a little, leaving small room for question. His breath smelled of liquor and weed. Only a moment passed before our lips touched. It was gentle, which I had anticipated. He was tall, with sandy blond hair. He touched his hand to my face, pressing the other against the small of my back. We sank into his bed, and I ran my hand behind him, under his shirt.

The music was slow but strong, matching the thumping in his chest. He was on his back, very clearly aroused, by the bulge in his Corona boxers that was steadily growing. I was straddling him, looking down. His hands softly grazed the white piping of my pink briefs, touching the side of my thighs. I touched his chest, leaned in, and kissed him lightly on the lips. I slid my body next to his, and pressed the length of myself against him. He told me that I smelled good. I laughed. He brushed my hair from my face, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

I simply replied, “Thank you.”

His expression was of pure ecstasy. He was quietly panting; his chest repeatedly swelled and relaxed.

Part Two:

He was so peaceful, sleeping there naked with his sheets wrapped so elegantly around him. The candles had since burned out. 3:57am. I grabbed my underwear off his turntables, and put them in the pocket of my hoodie. I slid my jeans back on, pulled over my shirt, and grabbed my shoes. I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Then I walked out of the room, and closed the door behind me.

While I was driving home, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Tonight, I guided this boy through a sexual revolution! It seems that I have a track record of doing such things. I think it is quite possible that I have had more sex with heterosexual men, than I have with gay ones. Perhaps it’s because I don’t sleep with very many people (despite the rumors and what people may say). Or maybe perhaps it’s because I’m attracted to men that other gay man haven’t tainted. A friend of mine thinks that it’s because I’m fearful of committing myself to another person, so when I do sleep with someone, it’s in a setting where I don’t have to worry about becoming attached.

It’s completely true that I am reluctant to dive head first into a relationship. God forbid I look for someone that I enjoy spending time with, rather than a boyfriend that I’m going to realize I have nothing in common with, and end up ending when I get bored of him. The only way you can love another is by learning to love yourself first. When you stop looking for love, that’s when it will come to you.

So until then, I’ll stick to what I do best.

He sent me three text messages today. I was glad to hear that I had given him a sexual experience that was not only the most memorable, but “was fucking awesome. I didn’t kno some1 could do that! When can I C U again?” (Poor use of grammar and all). As flattered as I am, I doubt I will see him long term. He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t see me as dateable. And frankly, I know nothing about him.

Whenever I meet someone new, I’m either immediately pegged into one of three categories: I’m either a piece of ass, a piece of mind, or a piece of work.

It’s true that I have a very dominant personality. However, I try to make it a point to be kind and warm. It’s been told to me, that that is one of my attractive qualities. I personally believe that my willingness to make decisions and be forward with people is part of my charm. Sometimes others are threatened my by my ease to confront and talk to people I don’ t know. Meeting people is actually one of my favorite things to do.

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t mind being plagued by these three positions. Desperately I have I tried to be viewed as more than a piece of ass… as more than a best friend… as more than opinionated. I feel that I am constantly at war with the world, because I’m trapped into three difference cages at once.

For a while, I had an infatuation with my friend Jeff. Not only did we have the most amazing time together, but also he was funny and made me laugh. I’ve been told by a few different people, that he has stood up to bat for me, on more than one occasion. And that is something that I lack in most other friends.

I watched him be in these relationships with these boys with six packs, and big arms. I see him lust after men with chiseled jaw bones, and ripped stomachs. While men like that are nice to look at, I’ve found from personal experience that they tend to lack depth. I understand that he wants to be with someone who is physically perfect, but there is so much more out there to experience! I’m never surprised when his relationships end in heartbreak, which is then interrupted by his lustful desire for someone new. He is always on the prowl.

Don’t misread my words about Jeff and his relationships. That is purely observation. I adore this boy (clearly) and wish nothing but happiness for him. It’s unfortunate that when he asks for advice, he never really listens. I suppose I wouldn’t either, if I was in his position. He’s a cute college freshman! I suppose I would live it up as well. However, I would know the difference between seeking someone out because of my lustful eye, and seeking something real. He still can’t tell the two apart. Which in all fairness, most men can’t, regardless of their age.

I’ve lain awake at night next to him, thinking to myself about how beautiful this boy is, and how I could treat him better than anyone else. He’s smart, driven, ambitious, funny, and cute. He doesn’t even realize what a catch he is. He also can’t even see it when someone doesn’t want anything from him, but his company. It’s a rarity when I find myself genuinely caring for someone else like that. Then I’m reminded by his blatant yearn for some random gorgeous man to come take him away. I knew it was unrealistic to crush on him. It’s not often when I my feelings for someone are mutual, which I’ve found is probably for the best. Saves you heart break in the end. I just wish he could see what a great guy he is.

The moment I start having an intelligent conversation with someone, I’m not sexually attractive, thus I’m his new best friend. Moreover, when I have an intelligent conversation and don’t agree with his views, I’m a piece of work! What I have learned from these men, was to keep my mouth shut, go to the gym, and only then will find true happiness.

Yeah. Right.

Frankly, I don’t want to be with any man that thinks that way. And if that dismisses me, then so be it. I don’t need a man like that to make me happy. I’ve spent so much time worrying about hot guys, and flashy cars… fuck I’ve been in relationships with them. I’m never happy. I’m always looking for someone hotter or better. I’m never truly happy because they’re not people I can to. I just want someone to talk to at the end of the day.

I want a part time lover and a full time friend.

“I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train. I kiss you all starry eyed, my body swings from side to side-”
Matty B.

You Look Like Trash. I Can’t Lie. Talk Some Shit And You’ll Get Hit!

I was watching E! News today, and one of their featured stories was Ashlee Simpson’s ever-changing style. From blonde, to brunette, to black, to blonde again, to red, her hair is not the only thing that keeps changing. From a nose job and some collagen in the lips, to couture Chanel and ripped Ed Hardy t-shirts, she’s all over the board. You can even hear it in her music. While her debut album “Pieces of Me” was composed of mostly main stream pop hits, her most recent song, “Get Outta My Head” is electro-synthpop, 80’s inspired single, that really shows the development and range of her music, as well as her personality. (Can you tell I’m an Ashlee Simpson fan?)

Celebrity stylists say that’s really important to always have an evolving image that’s constantly adapting to current fashion trends and designers. I personally think that it’s imperative to always keep up with not only the use of color and pattern in designs, but also new and upcoming designers. It’s the only way to be a trendy hipster, like myself.

I was called chic this morning, and I’m certain that it is one of the best compliments I have ever received. I find that celebrity stylist and designer Christian Siriano, winner of Project Runway Season Four, best reflects my style. He’s 21, has a fierce asymmetrical hair cut, and a trendy New York style that focuses on fitted pieces, bold colors, clean lines, and a clever sense of flair and detail, that many other designers don’t dare to attempt. To put it frankly, he’s the style icon that I fashion myself after.

It’s also really important to have a large selection in your boudoir. I personally have all sorts of clothing, ranging from extensive baggy hip-hop attire, Abercrombie and Fitch Polo’s and Bermuda shorts, to sleek black vests, button ups, producer pants, even bright violets and cerulean tops from American Apparel. A lot of people out there make the mistake of not being versatile enough. I find that you need to try new things and be open- minded, in all aspects of life. Not only when referring to your wardrobe.

I was at a party last night, where I was looking fierce, if I do say so myself. Jeff said my make up was flawless; I was sporting a long sleeved army green thermal designed by Morphine, a fitted black military jacket, snug gray straight leg skinny jeans by Lacoste, and black faux fur Uggs. It was a fun outfit that I like to wear on chilly winter evenings. Unfortunately, the heterosexual swarm of men that plagued the party with baggy Jnco’s, and Etnies skater shoes, didn’t have the same appreciation for style as I did.

Just by studying the reactions that would flit across their faces as I walked by, told me a million and one things about them. I didn’t even have to look at their girlfriend’s faces to know who their style icons were. Branded with Playboy logos, crudely ripped jeans, and an expression to match, they were the epitome of people I would choose to not associate myself with. They were tragedy in all aspects. I don’t want to hate on these people or anything, but can I not when they choose to hate on me? They don’t even care that they look like a potato sack with a faded bunny logo on it.

It’s just interesting that I live in a community, where not only do people care less about how they present themselves to new people, but they reprimand and chastise someone that really takes the time and effort to make a good first impression. Unfortunately we live in a society where the first impression you make on them is when you see them for the first time. Just take a moment to yourself and think,” How do I communicate who I am, by the clothes on my back, and expression on my face?”

In fashion magazines all over the world, there are the best dressed and the worst dressed celebrities. Celebrities make a fashion faux-pas all the time. The difference between them, and the people at this party last night (other the obvious), was that they always have a brilliant welcoming smile. I just think that if you are going to judge other people, you should not only look in a mirror first, but you should hide it a little better on your face.

Where Is The Love?
Matty B.

Lipstick. Compact. Blush Brush. Don’t Touch.


There was a line of girls filing out of the men’s bathroom. The buzz from the growing audience mirrored the anticipation pulsing through our bodies. With one last cat eye, and one last cloud of hairspray, we gathered together in a circle, joining hands.

“You’ve been busting our ass for months. Dancing four days a week, grueling rehearsals without breaks or water, running the same three 8-counts over and over again, the short tempers… You have been the ideal first troupe that I could ask for. I know I drive you guys really hard, and expect so much from you. All I can say is go out there, do your best, and show them how Street Side works it out!”

I squeezed Heather and Crystal’s hand encouragingly. Crystal looked up at me, flashed a white smile at me, and gave me a huge hug. We all glanced around at each other, nodded, pulled up our graffiti- covered hoodies, and as the lights dimmed to blackout, we took our positions, and waited for our show to begin.

The lights blazed yellow and white. You could feel the audience’s eyes fix on you, as the music started, and you made your entrance. Tech N9NE blasted through the speakers. I ripped off my hood, and I showed them what I did best.

The air was cool, as I threw myself into the air, twisting my body, every moment that passed, my back more parallel to the ground. Silence. Minute beads of sweat trickled down my face, and across my jaw line before delicately dripping off. My sneakers hit the ground with a neat, soft, thud. The crowd roared. In an instant the music hit me. My hand touched my face. My hips dropped down and I slid my legs under me. I whipped my hair around, and suddenly I’m not Matty dance enthusiast, who spends four hours a day at the studio. I’m Matty B. professional dance addict.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Smooth transitions, no lighting or music malfunctions, and thankfully no injuries. After we completed our final piece, and took a bow, there was a moment of dead silence. The crowd stood up and cheered. Screams and whistles filled the auditorium. I couldn’t help but to smile. All those long hard nights, working us to the bone at the studio, if for only those minutes, made it worth our while.

The showcase received rave reviews. I was completely overwhelmed by the amount of people that came up to me after the show, congratulating me. While I was standing outside smoking a post-show cigarette, a large group of guys walked up to me. Naturally, I thought that I was going to have the shit beaten out of me, considering I had my fierce face on, and was in the middle of suburbia. After one of them asked me for a cigarette, they came close, and told me how impressed they were. They told me I really represented out there. I politely thanked them, and invited them to our next show in June.

At risk of sounding like an after school special, what I love about dancing is that it brings people together. Whether it’s in the studio or in the club, when you step on that dance floor, it’s one language; one world. Moving to your favorite music, blood rushing, endorphins pumping… it’s a beautiful thing, and I love that I can share something I’m so passionate about, with everyone.

I just want to thank everybody again who came out last night. Tickets were sold out, everyone in the company has such a great time dancing, and we’re stoked to bring a bigger and better show, this June!


BOOM UNIT tic …tic …tic …tic …tic …tic …tic ..BLOWS THIS SHIT UP!
Matty B.

”Face Down In The Dirt, He Says This Doesn’t Hurt.”

I, like the rest of the American population addicted to pop culture, love dirt on celebrities just as much as anyone else. Hell my favorite television show is “Dirt” starring Courtney Cox. However, I try to lead life with a kind heart, and try to not spread a juicy rumor when I hear one. In fact, I’m kind of a party pooper when it comes to that sort of thing. I may be hip to new club openings, and always step with my fashion forward foot first, but I’ve found that you don’t have to be a cesspool of diseased rumors, to be considered trendy or popular in the “Denver Scene.” (I use the term “scene” lightly.)

Over the past few weeks, I have received some a lot of troubling news. In complete honesty, when I first heard, I wanted to whip out my laptop, write an outraged bulletin full of names of people I was furious with, and less than kind words describing them. Instead, I did what any troubled homosexual does. He shakes himself an appletini, and calls his good old trusty Grams for advice. She asked me if I heard a rumor about one of my friends, what I would do. Immediately I responded that I would turn to them and ask them, for clarification. You ALWAYS have to verify to make sure your source is correct. She then suggested that I straighten out any miss conceptions about my character, and then continue with my life.

An IC popped up on my window a few weeks ago while I was checking my connexion. It was a 28 year old blond boy, whom I had never met. As his occupation, he put “Professional”. I thought to myself,” this guy has got to be interesting.” My friends and I all believe that people that put “professional” as their occupation, they have to be in the adult film industry. Out of slight amusement, I took a few moments to talk to him.

The first thing he wrote was, “Why don’t you have sex with anyone?”

I was taken aback for a moment. No “Hi”. No “What’s up?”. No warning. I couldn’t help but to be slightly entertained by being asked that question by a complete stranger. I also couldn’t help feeling offended. So I asked him who he was, and why it was any of his business.

He then, uninhibitedly explained to me his entire situation.

I dated this boy for a quick second, last summer. Then I dated him again, over the holidays. Both times it ended because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Apparently the boy chatting with me, asked his friend (the boy I broke up with) about me, because he thought I was cute. My ex claimed I was a prude, and never put out. He also said he suspected I had AIDS, because I had disclosed to him that it was a rarity for me to sleep with someone that I had just met. Clearly, that meant I had a sexually transmitted disease. On top of that, I was accused of being a slut, because if I wasn’t having sex with him, I had to be getting it elsewhere. None of those reasons were why I wouldn’t have sex with him. The reason was because I DON’T HAVE SEX WITH PEOPLE I DON’T TRUST. But that of course makes me a diseased slut. Brilliant. Because of this boy’s brazen ignorance upon ICing me, I decided not to go out on a date with him, despite my love for dumb blonds.

A few days ago, I received a text message from a friend of mine. It was forwarded from a mutual friend of ours, and to put it lightly, it had less than pleasant things to say about me. In said text message, it accused me of being a coke-head slut, who steals people’s boyfriends, and if given the opportunity, will ruin your life if crossed.

I almost had to laugh. Everyone who knows me, knows I have been cocaine free for quite some time, now. As for ruining lives and stealing boyfriends, they really give me too much credit. I haven’t played those games since high school. I think people’s misconception of me is derived from who I used to be in high school. I’m not a kid anymore… and neither are they. If you take the time to talk to me for even a moment, you know I’m a different person. However, I try to take these things with stride. I was a pretty erratic teenager, who was known for my “silver tongue, and venomous bite” as an ex-boyfriend once said.

What perhaps irked me the most, was probably what a friend of mine showed me a few days ago. I have been called a lot of things in my life, most recently referring to my use of make up, but some people take it too far. Taking a photograph, and photo shopping the words “Tranny” in red, across my forehead, is a bit extreme. Then posting it on your myspace, thinking someone wouldn’t tell me about it, is a bit ridiculous. (update: because of the amount of emails this boy got trashing him because of the photo, he’s deleted the picture, and made his myspace private.) Honestly, I find that to be a bit hurtful. Who goes through the great lengths to try and terrorize someone? WHAT GAY MAN WOULD DO THAT TO ANOTHER GAY MAN UNPROVOKED? How can you sit at my side, drink that martini I just mixed you, smoke one of my Marlboro Menthol Smooth’s, and call me your friend?

Recently a boy named Lawrence King murdered. Not because he was gay, but because he was a gay boy that wore stiletto boots, and make up. Lets be honest here. It takes a certain kind of person to be able to work it at the age of 15. When I was 15 years old, fuck, at the age of 13, I rocked my silk polyester shirts, Bermuda shorts, and blue and gray eyeliner/ eye shadow combo. I also had the shit beaten out of me on a regular basis. At school and at home.

“He Was An Inspiration For All”, “He Was Fearless, And Has Had An Impact On All Our Lives-,” read the headliners.

“I wish I could have known him. He must have been a fascinating person-,” responds one of the members of the gay website, connexion.

Growing up living a similar lifestyle, it outrages me the kind of reaction the gay community has had to this story.

He wasn’t fearless. He was terrified of the people at school. The boy that murdered him, I have no doubt in my mind had been harassing him, on more than a few occasions. For you to say he had an impact on your life, is a lie. Wishing you could have know him, is useless and vapid. How people fake their love for this poor deceased boy make me sick.

For years straight people have harassed me, because they are scared of what I stand for. For years, gay people have harassed me, because they are scared of what I stand for.

Not two weeks ago, I was drunkenly stumbling down the Hill in Boulder, trying to find my way back to a party I had foolishly left prematurely. I was on the phone with Brady, who was telling me how to get back, when I skipped past a group of people, and walked down the street.

I almost didn’t hear what one of the young men had to say.

“What the fuck is that faggot doing here? Come back here you fucking AIDS faggot! I’ll beat the shit out of you, you fucking pussy bitch!”

Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was that my tolerance for assholes has been reached, that evening. All I know is that I slid my Helio shut, gripped it in my hand tightly, turned, and waited for them to approach me.

One of the boys emerged from the small group, calling me a faggot, opening his arms wide, to appear larger than he actually was. He couldn’t have been taller than 5’8”, had buzzed red hair, and a flannel button up shirt.

I’m a big bitch. Standing at 6’4” and closing in on 200 lbs, I may be gay, but I’m no twink. I don’t take the shit a twink does either. Not anymore.

He immediately realized his mistake, as he got closer to me, and noticed his friends weren’t as close behind him, as he thought. I had passed them quickly, and he misjudged my size, from my distance. I yelled in his direction, “How typical! Call me a fucking faggot! Come beat the shit out of me! Come try at least! Fuck you, and your ignorance!”

I was standing outside “the Sink” on the Hill, and apparently my drunken cursing grabbed the attention of a police officer eating a slice of pizza inside. The short little man finally reached me, and stood on his tip-toes, to try and get in my face. I towered over him, put my hands on his shoulders, and pushed him away, with minimal force. The officer watched as he waddled as quickly as he could.

“Boys, is there a problem here?”

“This fucking asshole is calling me a faggot, and trying to star a fight with me!” I yelled at the officer, but towards the boy, who was getting up from the ground.

The boy tried to lurch at me, but was intercepted by the officer. He then continued to struggle and hassle the officer.

“You fucking asshole faggot! Get the fuck out of here!” I yelled at the pathetic excuse of a man, as I spit at him. The officer yelled at me to get back. I felt this overwhelming wave of confidence, as I turned and walked away, loudly laughing drunkenly.

In retrospect, it wasn’t the most mature route to go: resorting to violence. However, it felt amazing to stand up to someone that had started a scene unprompted. Looking back, it really could have gotten ugly. You never know, he could have had a weapon, and killed me. I could be dead right now, because I don’t put up with intolerance.

And that could have cost me the same fate of Lawrence King: death. What would happen, then?

Suddenly, calling someone that doesn’t live his life fucking and snorting anymore, a (and I quote) “AIDS infested coke-head slut,” isn’t funny. In an instant, that photograph with the words “Tranny” stenciled across my forehead becomes the poster for living a “fearless lifestyle.” “An inspiration” is what you call me, as you tell all your friends about how we spent every moment together, and you respected me so much because I lead my life without thought of what other people said about me, when you were the very one, who started nasty rumors.

I’m not trying to throw a pity party here. I’m trying to open your eyes to the petty things that people say. Everyone that knew of Lawrence King, said they were his friend, and loved him dearly. How can they say that, when they are the very same people that trash his lifestyle, and judge people like him for wearing make up, and being fabulous and fierce?

When did the world wake up, and suddenly become a Gemini?

All I’m saying is that what people say about each other is fucked up.
Especially when you don’t even know them.

”Can you hear them? They talk about us. Telling Lies? Well, that’s no surprise.-“

Matty B.

”Them Baggy Sweat Pants, and the Reebok’s With The Straps. She Turned Around and Gave That Big Booty A Slap! ((Hey!))”

Mondays are a long day for me, as far as dancing goes. From 5-9:30 pm I am confined within the hot, humid confines of Street Side Dance Studio. There are fourteen people on my Senior Hip Hop Troup, and Ten on my Promotions Team. To be frank, we are not only committed to this company, but strive to be the best dancers we can be.

I spend probably fifteen plus hours a week dancing at the studio. Usually I am taking a class, or at a rehearsal. However, I have been known to plug in my iPod, and use an empty studio to play around with some of my own choreography.

Today, we had an opportunity to break into groups, and choreograph sections for a piece we’re performing March 17th, 7pm, at Monarch High School. (I apologize for the advertisement, but I am on the promotions team.) I was separated into a group with two other girls, Alex and Chelsea. We were given a section of music to choreograph, and some time to work it out.

And we did.

Out of all the groups, ours (as she said) was the most innovative. Apparently, she’s interested in Alex and I choreographing a piece for our next showcase.

I almost died.

The moment where I was asked to choreograph a piece, is basically what I have been working for, my entire life.

All I know, is that it was an amazing way to end my evening.

Just you wait.
Matty B.

b
”Black Bird Singing In The Dead Of Night. Will You Take These Broken Wings, and Learn To Fly?-”

I recently met this boy Trev, on connexion. After exchanging a mere three or four emails, I invited him over to my house to watch a movie. I know what you’re all thinking. Gay boy invites another gay boy over to his house to “hang out”. Who’s going to bring the poppers and lube?

I’ve prided myself on not being the stereotypical homosexual. I’ve also prided myself on not being the stereotypical human being… in any situation. So when I invited him over, I of course, had the purest of intentions.

I was pleasantly surprised, by the person who drove up and parked in front of my house. I was finishing a cigarette as he walked up. He had the biggest smile on his face, and was genuinely excited to meet me. I have to be completely honest, I was a bit taken aback. I was expecting… well, anything other than him.

Most of the people I meet are usually either shooting their mouth off about how much they hate some bitch they ran into at the club, or how hot the guy across the street is. Although I do love the occasional gay banter, after a few years, it gets old. Suddenly every new person you meet is just like the last. You’re surrounded by these taupe people who lead horribly vapid lives, and you find that you would rather be alone, than try and invest any sort of relationship with these people.

Trev followed me upstairs, and set his stuff down beside my bed. We never got around to watching a movie. Instead, we just sat there and talked.

He walked around my room, and picked through my used canvasses, asking questions, commenting, suggesting things I should do, where I should hang them, etcetera. He was possibly the most interesting person that I’ve talked to, in a really long time. He asked about my life, what I did, what I wanted to do. About a half an hour after his arrival, we hopped out my window, onto the roof, to smoke. He was stoked that he could see the moon, and that I “had such a great view”. We took a few pictures, talked a little more, drank some champagne, and went back inside.

I spoke to him uninhibited, which was very strange for me. I think it’s because I didn’t see him as a threat, as I do with most gay men. Let’s be honest, gay men are horrible. Never in my life have I ever been so reluctant to tell any of them anything about my personal life, because I’ve been scared they would later use it against me. That’s ultimately why I took such a long time to start writing my blog again, because people take the way I feel, and twist it around against me.

I suppose it’s unfair to target gay men specifically. However, I have met a lot of people, and consider myself a fairly popular person, when it comes to the community. Many of my “friends” are gay men, and I have yet to meet more than a handful, that aren’t at least a little guilty of some backstabbing. I’m not saying I’m completely guilt-free, but I try to mend relationships I’ve ruined, and be a better person in the future. Maybe you think that’s total bullshit. However people will think and say what they will. Thus the beauty of this entire situation, we call life.

We continued to talk until the early morning hours, about exes, boys, art, music, everything you can imagine. As I was about to fall asleep, he gathered his things, and I walked him downstairs, to the front door. He has two dogs at home that he has to take care of, so he couldn’t stay. I hugged him, closed the door, and walked back upstairs.

What I loved about him, was that I was in a pressure-free situation. I got do meet someone new, and actually have a conversation with them, without them asking me to do their hair or make up.

Gay, Straight, Bi, Men, Women… whatever happened to being human?

What Can I Get Fo Ten Dolla?

Matty B.

Don’t You Remember? You Told Me You Loved Me, Baby.

Two hours at the studio. Niara drilled our Tech N9ne and Traxamillion pieces. At the company I dance for, I’m on two separate troups: Senior Hip-Hop, and Promotions. We’ve been hammering out our promotions piece for weeks, preparing for tomorrow’s promo at Boulder High School. I’m not nervous, even though I was put in the piece last minute, disregarding the fact that I didn’t know much of the choreography. I learned it of course, however I believe a failure to plan is a plan for failure. I’ll just have to throw it down, and work it out.

My insurance company gave me a rental car while Rhoda, was in the shop. It’s a 2008 Nissan Sentra. Beautiful car, but it doesn’t have an iPod hook up like my trusty Jeep does. I was forced into the depths of my bedroom to dig out old mix CD’s, so I wasn’t forced to listen to the… *cough* …radio.

After dusting off an old CD case, I managed to find some semi-decent mixes from the past. My first (and favorite) roommate Bri and I, used to always make mixes for each other, and the ones that we cared about. When I was dating Brady, I would make them for him every month, on our “anniversary”.

At the first stop light home from leaving the studio, I opened my CD case to find something new to listen to. In the very back, there was a slip of folded paper reading “A Mixed Tape For You”. As I flipped that last page, I felt that there was a CD inside. Curious, I pulled it out, and slipped it in the stereo.

It was the first mix anyone had ever made for me. I remember Brady giving it to me at school, on our “second anniversary”. (I use quotes, because you can’t really call it an anniversary. Young love likes to mark the periods of their relationship. We’ve all been through it.) It was a mix of alternative rock songs, that he felt applied to us. Well, that’s what I gathered, by listening to the lyrics of each song.

As I sped up Arapahoe, one of the lyrics to the song said,” How can you sleep, knowing that I love you so? How can you sleep without me next to you?” I felt a hint of tears well in my eyes, for a reason otherwise expected. Instead of crying over “lost” love, I felt the most overwhelming sensation of joy, just remembering how it felt to have someone love you so deeply. It was almost as if I was lying in my bed, having my hair stroked as I fell asleep, after a terrible night at my junior prom.

As the songs continued, Sonic Youth sang,” Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby-” “…Loneliness is such a sad affair, I can’t wait to see you again.” All I could do is smile to myself because it felt so refreshing to be reminded, if only for a brief few moments, what it felt like to have someone care for you so whole heartedly. Feeling a connection with another human being like that, having such a genuine love for someone other than yourself, is beautiful. No matter how short lived it may be.

Don’t read into it, like I’m all upset about an ex boyfriend. It's not like that one bit. I’m not going to be some depressed gay guy, crying about why he’s single. I was just taken aback for a moment, and had to appreciate the emotional flashback. If you’ve never felt that way about someone, than you won’t be able to relate to this at all. However, for the few who do, you know it’s moments like those, that make the world that much more beautiful, and life that much more worth it.

It was a great way to end my evening.

You live, you learn. You love, you learn. You cry, you learn. You loose, you learn.

Matty B.

"Freakshow [Freak] Freakshow, We Can Give 'Em A-"

Why anyone would put on the façade that they were straight, is beyond me. Being straight is boring. Straight men are all the same. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to have sex with them. You have a long-term relationship with 100 men, who all think and look the same. It’s the perfect relationship. Who would want to pretend that they were boring, anyways? Gay men have something naturally, that the rest of the world has to earn: a ferocity.

Lets be honest here. A woman has to act, look, dress, and be the part. Gay men watch “To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything,” throw on an otherwise tacky boa, and suddenly Tyra Banks screams about how fierce they are. I personally think that it takes a certain finesse to be fierce. You have to dedicate yourself to exuding ferocity. It’s no part-time job. The minute you put yourself out there, people are going to rag on you, talk shit, and basically try to tear you down the best they can: your friends, your foes, and everyone in between. Prepare for the storm, because it can get cold. However, it also can result in a shower of compliments, and rainstorm of men. It’s a love/hate situation.

I was at Club Vinyl recently with my favorite gay Jeff, and when I got home, this sorry excuse of a homosexual named “Bailey Dolce” posted a bulletin on myspace, explaining how he saw me at the club, trash talked me, and said that I should go home and wash my face. In reality, I had never even met this child, nor did he come up to me. My friends think he was jealous of my flawless complexion, and felt he needed to distract from his poor use of Cover Girl foundation, by dissing on my flawless M.A.C. face.

On the other hand, Denver Underground took my photo (more than a few times), I became friends with the door girl Kellie (who upon meeting Jeff and I, immediately put us on the VIP List), met a really cool group of guys and girls, and danced the night away to a killer DJ, with my favorite boy.

You have to learn to take the good with the bad. As Samantha (Kim Cattrall) says on ‘Sex and the City’, “ They way to measure the quality of your life, is at the end of the day when you look in the mirror, are you smiling or frowning?”

After I washed my face, pulled my hair back, and settled into bed, I whispered to Jeff goodnight. He whispered goodnight back, I hugged him, and turned away.

I was smiling.

It takes a certain kind of person to be able to block out the bad, and focus on the good. Frankly, my world can come crashing down, but if I can manage an honest smile at the end of the day, I know everything will be okay. However, if I can’t manage that smile, I can at least have a flawless face to camouflage it.

”Step To Me, Ya Get Burnt Like Toast!-”
Matty B.

Chapter Two: Love. Learn. Laugh.

It has been a very long, cold, and dreary winter. The sky was clouded with gray misery, that reflected on the faces of the citizens, living below. I spent the long cold months watching independent films, listening to Kimya Dawson, and searching for something new.

My entire life, I have always had some sort of goal. When I was a child, it was to get away from my delusional mother. At fifteen, I packed a duffle bag, and left with no regret. When I was in high school, it was to get into a college, and move to Denver. At seventeen, I started attending the Art Institute of Colorado, and moved downtown. A few months after I turned 18, my college started fucking with me, making me jump through hoops to stay a student there. My roommate and I had a very rocky relationship. I woke up one morning, quit my job, moved out, and dropped out of college.

Five months later, I’m living with my best and oldest friend Vyckee, (who I call mom, even though she isn’t) am unemployed, and spending three hours a day, four days a week, dancing for an Independent Dance Company in Boulder. I’ve completely left my manic life behind, and went back to my roots: the studio.

I spent my childhood escaping my life by dancing for various companies around the Denver Metro area. From the age of 4, I was taking ballet classes from Frau Schmitt three days a week. I don’t know what it is, but it brings takes me home. The long hours, the dieting, the muscles so sore, you wake up unable to walk; it frees my mind.

I’ve spent the past few months trying to focus on what I want out of my life. Do I want to pursue a college degree? If so, where do I want to go? I’ve already found that an alternative institution wasn’t the right fit for me. Would I even be able to get into a public university such as CU? Would I live in the dorms? Would I have the ability to work, and go to school? What would I do about my friends? Would I get to see them? Who would I live with? How would I pay for it? What the fuck am I doing with my life?!

Suddenly my world is spinning so fast, I don’t know which way is up. I’m completely overwhelmed, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. I slip on a pair of converse, grab my duffle bag, get in my Jeep, and fly down Arapahoe, parking illegally in front of the studio. I get out, fly through the front door, drop my bag, plug my iPod into the sound system, and let go.

Three hours later, I get back into my Jeep, turn on some Freezepop, and drive home, re-centered.

I’m not quite sure exactly what my life’s plans are. However, I feel that that adds to my charm. Not quite sure what I’m doing, but there is a few things in life that bring me back down.

I figure as long as I don’t take anything (or anyone) too seriously, continue to surround myself with people that I enjoy being with, as I walk my path, it will begin to form, and show it’s self.

Well, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

I’m walking in Memphis. Do I really feel the way I feel?”
Matty B.

Shed Some Light, Shed Some Light On Me

It has been quite sometime since the last time I’ve posted something I’ve written. Between the animosity shown towards the way I write my blog, and the way I approach my life, I lost interest in sharing my intimate experiences with the very blunt public. Although I’ve found other sources of self expression, I haven’t ceased to write. I just haven’t posted anything.

However, the events of the past few weeks have been (as I quote my friends),” totally blog worthy.”

It seems I am back from my hiatus. Tune in, and feel free to comment.


Do you want to change?
XO
Matty B.

Memiors of a GAYsha

Five Weeks. Everytime I walked through the crystal clear double doors and into the ivory showroom, my heart rate would slowly increase. My pupils would dialate, adjusting to the bright glow of each counter, and i could feel the perspiration collect on my perfectly manicured brow.

I'll be the first to admit: I have had many jobs. I've worked every position you can think of. From mopping up vomit, to serving short stacks at the International House of Pancakes. I've served beer at Invesco Field, and worked as an Office Manager for the Largest Real Estate company, in the Denver Metro area.

Although some friends think of me unsteady or erratic, when it comes to working. Although i can understand why one would think that, what they don't know, are my views on work. When i walk down the street, more often than not i see angry people in suits, yelling about deadlines on their cell phones. People live these grey lives trapped in a 9-5 job, that can be done in their sleep. I am not like that.

I believe in trying to find that perfect fit. Something that fits my personality, exactly. First, I need a job with a firm managment spine. I've been at places where the managment had been lackluster, which led to many issues involving lack of leadership, and conflic tbetween co-workers. Second, I need to find a position where i can be myself. Tattoos, Piercings, Mohawk, Extensions, Make Up, the works. I need to be able to espress myself. Finally, i need a position where i can be creative. Either i'm dancing, talking, drawing, painting, designing layouts, color theory, writing, visual merchandising. If i get to use my brain, then i'll be succesfull.

I was incredibly intimidated. I had interviewed with three other people, already. As i blended, i could feel a drop of perspiration glide down my face, across my cheek. Confidance slipping, doubt filled my mind. I tried to focus. I smiled; uneasy. I had to do well. This was my dream job.

Two weeks later, i descended down the escalator. The cool breeze gently grazed my hair, playfully tossing it. As i walked to the counter, my wide grin was met by clapping and hugs from my new team. Loretta started listing things that i should know, letting me know the very strict ground rules. A firm backbone; just what i needed. Rose walked over to me and gave me a big hug. Wonderful co-workers; just what I wanted. As she secured my new necklace in place, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. My MAC pendant rested gently on my chest, bringing to life a sense of pride; something i had never felt before about a new position.

Seeing the cosmetics department smiling and welcoming me, almost brought a tear to my eye. I knew it. This is where i am supposed to be. This is home. I have to do well. I will learn everything i can. And I know I can succeed.

Are You Ready? If You 'aint Got No Money, Take Your Broke Ass Home! G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S.

You Want a Piece of Me?

The stench of liquor and vomit plagued his breath, like a toxin. He stumbled a bit; his threats as weak as his stomach for liquor. He immediately realized the mistake he made, when my response wasn't what he had expected.

"You fat fucking bitch! What the fuck Matty? You're such a looser! Everyone hates you, I hope you know."

I've grown up a sissy my entire life. People made fun of me; targeting my "gayness" and my weight. I pretty much grew up a social outcast, until i moved out of my parent's house at 15. Even then, when people picked fights with me, i was always the smaller, slower one; I cowered at the the mere threat of being hit.

But not anymore.

I turned to face the little man, that most recently used to call himself my roommate; my friend. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs in his face, leaned down to his level of 5'10", and simply said," Touch me. Touch me, and you will be gone."

The look on his face was priceless. It turned a delicious shade of purple. He started yelling about how fat I was, and what a waste of life I am. The satisfaction of knowing that i could have him thrown out of Tracks at ay given moment was just perfect. He knew it too. The way he was going on, and picking a fight with me for no reason, showed how desperate he was for attention.

I turned to a mutual friend of ours, Greg, and told him to get this little chihuahua out of my face, or i'd have him removed. Greg knew the seriousness of the situation, and he pulled the wasted Chad away from me, and thanked me for not throwing him out.

That thursday was the perfect night. I met a few guys, got to see a few friends, and finally had the upper hand on someone who had treated me so poorly in the past. However, as I was driving home and listening to my new favorite Brittany Spears song," You Want a Piece of Me," i couldn't get rid of the bittersweet taste from my mouth. Was it the aftertaste of the Red Bull i was slamming? Or was it something else?

Exactly a year ago, I was 45 pounds lighter than I am today. I was 6'4", and 155 pounds. You could literally see my chest bones and ribs. Many of my friends and family expressed alarm in my small waistline, and thin arms.

Today, it's been rumored that I'm known as the "big lovable sweetheart of Tracks." All of the other floor staff, are slim, and cut. Strong, tight bodies, and arms like rock. I however, do not fit that body type. And I'm okay with that. It seems though, that that makes me a fat ass, or looser.

That's just it: nothing is ever good enough for other people. Some people are going to love you for one thing, and other people are going to love you for another. The point being, you can't please everyone. If you spend your life worrying what other people are going to say and think about you, you're going to live a long life of worry and doubt... and that's not a lifestyle that i'm going to live.

If finding a comfortable in between makes me a cow and a looser, then so be it. All i know is that i'm not going to be obsessing over my weight, and shoving my finger down my throat to get that temporary comfort, like Chad. I feel good about myself and my body, and i'm not two pounds.

So let them say what they will. They can project their insecurities onto people who truly are free from such typical one's. It just shows the true colors of their character. Just remember that: you're not fooling anybody.

I'm Mrs.Extra!Extra!ThisJustIn. I'm Mrs. She'sTooFat,NowShe'sTooThin
Matty B.

I Am Revolution

I’ve been talking big for years. Growing up, I’d tell my mother,” I’m going places, momma. Just you wait and see. I’m going to be big.”

My first step was to get out of what I like to call, the “wet social rectum of Colorado” that is Longmont. My second step was to move in with stable friends, and maintain a constant financial constant. My third step was to climb the dance scene, and become one of Phunk-E-Elements most notorious go-go dancers. My fourth step was to move to the big city: Denver. My fifth step was to get clean, and leave a life of drugs behind. My sixth step was to move to a nicer apartment, and get a respectable job, that I could be proud of. My seventh step was to get into college. My eighth step was to drop out of college, and find one that better suited my needs. My ninth step…

My next step is undetermined. I’ve been thinking of my next move for months, now. I am just so incredibly indecisive. I lie in my bed at night, and my mind just screams, New York! Miami! San Francisco! Seattle! When in reality, I am too terrified to even think about the consequences of moving to such a large city, without any friends, any connections, anyone at all.

On the other hand, my life has been a horrible shade of taupe. How amazing would an adventure be, right about now? I’ve been looking through old blog entries, and really taking time to myself to figure out what’s going on with my life. After months of being blown off by my “friends”, and never really having anyone that I could constantly trust and confide in, I’ve found that I’m in the perfect position to start a new adventure; to start a personal revolution. I don’t have any real ties to living in Denver, or any personal connections keeping me here. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it kind of feels like a natural step for me.

I had a really hard time when I first moved here. However, through perseverance and constant belief in myself, I created a livable life that I was happy with. Was, being the key word. I think that now, I’m ready for the next step. There has to be more out there, than this daily frustration. As Elle Woods says,” If the fabric doesn’t work with you, then don’t work with the fabric!” So, when you’ve done your best and it just doesn’t work, then move on, and try life somewhere else.

Eric said that I would never leave. He said that I would never leave Denver, for a bigger city, and that I would end up living in Colorado.

Well for some of us, mediocrity doesn’t suffice. He almost made me feel bad for wanting bigger and better things. Hey, if he wants to live the same life of, waking up, Triple Iced Venti Vanilla Latte, driving to Hamburger Mary’s, working, stopping by a friend’s house, doing some drugs, driving home, creeping through the door so that he won’t wake up his mother, and slinking into bed, so be it. Who am I to inflict my personal goals on others? All I know is that I am destined for more. I will not live a lackluster life of tedious, wearisome, monotony. I’m better than that.

I’m not saying that I won’t come back. I don’t even know if I’m leaving. What I do know, is that I am going to make some big changes. In fact, I’ve already started.

I want you to know, you were my best friend.
Matty B.

Bottom on Top?

Not days before my roommate and I decided that I was to move out at the end of the month, I finally unpacked my last few boxes: one of which containing my old computer, that I haven’t used in almost a year.

I sat there for hours, looking at old pictures of past friends; at my past life. As I scanned the folders full of pictures of me and my “best friends” dancing at raves, drinking at BBQ’s, swimming during the summer, and the legendary “morning after breakfast’s” at Denny’s (post party, concert or rave), I couldn’t help but to feel this incredible pit in my stomach.

Dilated pupils, lock jaw, sweaty, blurry faces, grinned back at me from the brightly lit screen. I remember looking through music magazines when I was younger, seeing all these fabulous people dancing with the exact same expressions... Except the feeling that occurred was very different form the one that I have now.

At the age of 13, I remember ripping pictures of these fabulous people out of Happy Magazine and Flaunt. It filled me with and endless amount of optimism, because I would lie there listening to the electro-pop album that came with the magazine, picturing crowds of people scream my name, as I danced my little heart out.

Living in a sheltered suburb of Colorado can definitely be deter you from a dream of fame. It was only a matter of time, before I found myself re-applying on facial glitter, and blotting the beads of sweat from my face with a stage hand’s t-shirt.

I had a little flash from the past last Thursday when I was working the floor at TRACKS. Two adorable kids ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and stared up at me wide-eyed.

“Are you beautiful?” The thin, attractive twink asked me.
“Excuse me?”
“What he means is, are you Matty B.eautiful?” Screeched the thrilled fag-hag companion.
I stopped and stared at them for a beat.
“I suppose I am now, aren’t I?” I hesitated.
The two exchanged glances, immediately screamed at the top of their lungs, and tackled me.
A bit confused, I stood up, adjusted myself and grinned at them; confused.
“You are a LEGEND! I can’t believe you work here! Are you dancing tonight?! When’s your next show? Are you still dancing with Bliss? Where have you been? None of us have seen you for, like, a year! Are you dead? How are you? I heard another dancer broke your leg to get your slot dancing for Phunk-E! Oh my GOD! The picture of you dancing at Ultra World that I got off of Denver Underground is on ALL of my friend’s myspace!”

I was completely taken aback. I quickly collected myself and shook the stunned look off my face. I gave them a brief catch-up on the past year, delicately leaving out the drug addiction, horrible break up of the Boulder Raving Crew, and the destroyed mess my life had been until about three or four months ago.

The boy was completely mesmerized by my life, and couldn’t stop staring. I told them to come to me if they needed anything, and politely excused myself; directing them to run along and play nice with the other kids. As I retreated to the employee bathroom, I couldn’t help but be complexly overwhelmed by the entire situation. I took a moment to myself, grabbed a Red Bull, and headed back out to the floor.

As I finished looking at the pictures from past raves, I felt this incredible sense of qualm. According to my 13-year-old self, I had it all: People screaming my name, being recognized on the street, girls and guys wanting to fuck me, much less be me, and an entire crew made to assure a positive experience at raves and parties. What more could I want?

The downside of taking unmarked pills that came in a little baggie, is that is doesn’t have a “side effects” label, detailing the result of your consumption. My personal side effects label is incredibly lengthy; which was the deciding factor in changing my lifestyle.

I certainly don’t know where my life is going, or where I am going to be. However, I am quite confident as to where I have been, and where I will not be again.

Maybe I traded my glow sticks for a mop and broom, and perhaps I gave up fame at parties for the humble life of floor staff at TRACKS. What’s important is that I am living a life where honesty, being clean, and good old fashioned hard work is earning me a healthy, positive future. It may not be the most glamorous life, but I figure any situation can be a glamorous one, if you throw on a little glitter.

Plastic parts, broken hearts, masterpiece, scalpel please…
Matty B.

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.


We Get High In Back Seat Circles, We Break Into Mobile Homes
Matty B.

Listen

I was sitting on the couch watching the OC Season Three, and Ryan and Marissa finally got back into Harbor, and started applying for colleges. Seth and Summer decided that they should both apply for Brown. I decided I needed to get off my lazy ass and do something with my life. So I put on some pants and decided to take action. Nothing in your life will change, if you don’t change. So does the journey to self discovery begin.

Last night was my first night back at the gym. I think that the best way to feel good about yourself is by creating positive changes in your life. When you work out, your body releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. It’s as simple as that. It wouldn’t hurt to feel good about my body. Plus, my roommate suggested that I should consider getting liposuction. Although he says tons of stuff like that to validate his own personal decisions, it wouldn’t hurt to tone up, and slim down. No one likes a fatty.

I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish between now, and the New Year. At the top of that list, was to get away from this shitty school known as the Art Institute, and get into the University of Colorado at Denver. I’ve decided that my major is going to be Digital Media Art, with a minor in French. Considering it wraps together two of my passions, it should be a good fit. All I have to do now is apply, and figure out how to pay for it!

Another item on my list, was to create more art. I’ve really been letting myself go, as far as art goes, with the exception of my blog, because I’ve been so busy, attempting to improve my financial standings. Well not anymore! I had my final day at Melt, and now I actually have time to do things with my life, that actually matter.

I really think that this will be a positive step for me. Taking some time to myself, observing things that aren’t a positive influence in my life, maturing and developing my body... it should be interesting to see how this plays out.

Until next time…

I’m all alone at a crossroads

Matty B.

All The Leaves Are Brown And The Sky Is Grey


The past week has been over saturated. The Highs, the lows, the colors, the grays; when it was good, it was great. When it was bad, it was fuckin' ugly. All I can say is that I did NOT get the R&R that I needed. I did however, see the true colors of my friends, and have an absolute blast.

The sky has been a miserable melancholy gray for the past few days. Between the rain, the wind, and the browns of the trampled fall leaves, the city has been wallowing in its’ own self pity. As I sat under my white and green Lacoste umbrella listening to my iPod, I realized that sometimes, you have accept the fact that sometimes things aren’t always what you tell yourself they are.

I sat there looking at the world around me, the cold black streets, the dark grays and browns of the surrounding buildings. Maybe its pessimism or maybe it’s a moment of clarity, but Denver isn’t so amazing. Life isn’t as amazing as I keep talking it up to myself. I’ve been trying to convince myself that if I work myself to the bone, get in with the right people, wear the right clothes, make enough money; things will get better for me.

I went to my first 21+ night, at TRACKS, on Friday. There were maybe four people there. Okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration; however, there couldn’t have been more than 50 people there. At the hottest gay club in Denver, there were only 50 people? It was definitely a shocker and a let down. I heard Saturdays are the night to go, but was still hoping that it wasn’t the pathetic excuse that is undoubtedly was. I however, still had a blast because I had a few drinks and a few rides on the mechanical bull, with my very dear friends (and Lesbian Mafia), Bri, Rae, and Ange.

When I text Eric that night letting him know, I got no reply, as usual. It seems that more and more, he’s been screening my text messages. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he’s actually text me back. Oh yeah, he text me back on Friday, when he cancelled on me to sporadically drive to Longmont to hang out with a friend. You know, I keep talking him up to myself. I keep talking up all my friends to make them so much better than they actually are.

I suppose I wouldn’t be as upset as I am about being blown off, if it didn’t keep happening. It’s not just him, either. My friends just think that they can say one thing, and do something completely different. Maybe it’s the people I’m choosing to spend time with. Maybe I’m too easy going, and let them think its okay to blow me off. Either way, it’s fucked up, and it’s getting old. Fast.

The bus comes, and I step up, pay my fare, and sit down in the first available seat. I look around at all the different faces, and I can’t help but to wonder if something similar is happening with them.

Growing up, I had very minimal friends. In fact, I had no friends. I was pretty much a social outcast until my junior year of high school. I had been going to school with the same people for years, and no ever looked twice at me. I was hideous and overweight, and my family was broke. I lived in a trailer, for Christ’s sake. I spent as much time as I could, dancing at the studio in Boulder, because it was my escape from the loneliness of being at the bottom. Well now, I’m not at the bottom. I’m not broke, hideous or overweight anymore. Hell, while I am a bottom, my friend’s call me a “bottom on top”.

But I still have that very familiar feeling of being alone. Here I am exuding success, and suddenly I realize that I’m not as high up as I thought I was.

Sometimes, when you work for something hard enough, you actually get the desired result. That’s not the case with me. Nothing is ever handed to me, not that I would want it to. Every so often, I would like things to go in my favor.

Every so often, I would really appreciate a friend.

California dreamin’ on a cold winter’s day
Matty B.

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired


My phone rang at 10:15am this morning. My hand surfaced out of the deep red sea of comforters, and lazily sought out whatever was making such a wretched noise, at such an early hour. Heather told me to get my lazy ass out of bed, and to join her and Beth downstairs at Panera Bread, for a bagel.

A pair of knit sweats, a Lacoste undershirt, and an oversized pair of white sunglasses later, I was munching on an asiago cheese bagel with light spread. I knew I looked a mess. It was almost embarrassing to be in public looking the way I did.

After I went back to my apartment, I hopped into the very inviting shower. I sat there for a moment, just thinking about everything that has happened over the past week. In response to my resignation at Melt, the owner offered me a pay raise, to stay for a month, and hire two people to replace me. We talked it over, and he admitted that he had been over working me, and underpaying me. I agreed to help him out, and we decided I would stay until October.

When I was on my two-hour break in between jobs, Aimee and I went to Diedrich’s Dazbog to get some coffee, and get away from the mall. Afterwards, we went to Cheeseman Park, where we just laid in the grass, and talked. She said she didn’t know how I did it. Working two three jobs, going to school, and managing time with friends… told me of her mother’s concern. I re assured her that I was going to be okay, rolled onto my back, and took a deep breath; breathing in the fresh smell of a grassy vacation.

Eric and I went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory two nights ago, and it was absolutely delightful. We got to talk about everything that’s been happening over the past few weeks, and really get to reconnect. We made plans to hang out this weekend, and I am more than thrilled to do so.

I’ve felt so incredibly overwhelmed by the constant chaos that’s been fueling my life recently. Every morning I’m up at 8am, and every night I get home at 11:15am. Work all day, and utter exhaustion by the time I hit my pillow at midnight. I haven’t even been able to think about guys, dating, fucking, anything. Hell, I’ve barely been able to keep up with myspace.

Being disconnected from the world has completely segregated me from all my friends. It’s a lonely life, working all the time. More often than not, I’ve found that I’m always feeling alone, and depressed. Sitting on the bus, on my way home is the worst. Being plagued by exhaustion plus feeling completely isolated emotionally, is almost unbearable.

I step out of my shower, and the Muffs “Kids in America” start to play. I pat dry my face, pull on a graphic t-shirt, girl jeans, and my trade mark sunglasses. There’s no way I’m going to let myself fall into a funk. I’m young and I’ll bounce back from this! I have to. I will.

As I step outside, I realize how beautiful today is. I’ve spent weeks cooped up inside, and I could never take the time to appreciate the beauty around me. Why ruin my ONLY day off, by worrying and fretting over work?

I may have her sense of humor, her hair, and her eyes, but I am not my mother. And I am going to make the best of my days.

Everybody live for the music!
Matty B.