“Straight Boys… Where You At? (I’m A Boyfreind Kleptomaniac.)”

Everyone knows that the big and beautiful men with gorgeous golden muscles and bright white smiles secretly love the hipster, alternative boys. I mean look at the amount of profile hits I’ve had today. First of all it’s a Tuesday, and I already have 108 profile views (that’s a lot for this website. i'm the 25th most viewed profile on the entire site, internationally)… and it’s only 8pm! Not to mention my myspace profile, where collectively I have had over 50,000 profile views, since I started a few years ago.

While we may love their tight abs and broad shoulders, we all know that they love our long thin frame, and decisively placed piercings. You know our type. Black straight leg pants, slip on Vans, big hair (full of extensions), fake eyelashes, thick black liner, and brightly colored vintage t-shirts that harmonize with our eclectic and seemingly sporadic tattoos.

It’s not a surprise that guys like us have a mutual admiration for each other. Opposites attract, right? It’s only because of today’s “ideal of beauty” as to why you don’t typically see such different people together.

I recently received an email on connexion from the epitome of the “Abercrombie Gay Male.” He’s 19, 6’, 190 lbs, has washboard abs, and a big beautiful chest, to match his big beautiful smile. It’s funny because I expected his profile to read the exact same as every other guy that looks like him, and messages me. It’s boring to see that your only interests are: “hott bois, workin out, fast cars, sex, not really into the club scene, but still go for hott bois.”

When I went over to his page, I was mildly intrigued by what he had to say. Apparently he’s in school majoring in communication, and has a fairly developed musical taste. I noticed and was thrilled to see that he was a fan of “good” indie-pop. (You would be surprised how much terrible indie music is out there.) He even listed that he was a movie freak, which would be a future conversation starter.

I read the first email he sent to me that said,” Ur too fucking cute.”

Normally, an email like that would come from a 50 year old man, a crack head crystal queen, or the big meaty beef cakes. Usually, I disregarded them, and replied with a simple yet curt, “thank you.” I find the in most cases; people just want to fuck me. As flattering as that may be, at the end of the day, you just feel like a used piece of meat. However today, I was feeling a bit audacious, and emailed him back.

We emailed back and forth a couple of times about what we do and what not. I dance for two companies, and work full time at a salon. He works out and goes to school. I often don’t tell people that I frequent the gym for a couple reasons. (I consider 4 days a week frequent) It’s mostly because I don’t have a six pack, or perfectly etched pecs. However, I’m not necessarily going to the gym to have that perfect body. While EVERY GAY MAN wants that beautiful body of an Adonis, I mainly go to help boost my health. Not only do I sleep better at night, but it’s also helping me to quit smoking, and repair the damage I did as result of on my previously unhealthy lifestyle. Not to mention that it also boosts my self esteem when I see the pounds melt off the scale.

I was interrupted from chatting with him, because I had to actually do my job (god forbid!), which temporarily ended our conversation. This gave me time to collect my wit, and prepare to be charming, yet delightfully hilarious.

I’m sitting here at my desk thinking about guys that I’ve dated in the past that looked like him. Jason was dumber than a box of bleached hair (and that’s putting it lightly). Jeremy wasn’t much of a thinker either. Who doesn’t know which direction is west? I mean, come on. Work with me!

I’m not going to put to much pressure on anything, though. My profile says I’m not looking for anyone for a reason… because I’m not. If someone happens to find me, fabulous. If it happens to come from that, bonus.

All I know is that I’m looking for a part time lover and a full time friend. I don’t have much time or energy for much else, these days.

I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else… but you-“
Matty B.

"I See Right Through To You."

I was drinking a bottle glass of wine, when an IC screen popped up, while I was checking my email on connexion. A very attractive man that lives in NYC/LA. one of the first things he said was, “ you are a special person.” Naturally, I was intrigued, and told him to continue.

We spent about an hour talking about me. He just rattled off what he thought (or as he said “felt”) about me, and my life. I of course, thought that he was just another loyal reader, who was regurgitating information that they read on my blog, trying to impress me. Until I read this:

*****: your mom's twin died young?
MattyB.: how on earth did you know that?
MattyB.: i've never written about that.

I had this pit in my stomach that dropped. Robbie, my mom’s twin (whom my little brother is named after) died when he was four, which devastated my grandma. It quintessentially de-railed her entire life, literally, until the day I was born. She completely abandoned her family, because she was so beside herself with grief. Both of my uncles don’t speak with her because of this reckless abandonment. There have been periods of time where my mother hasn’t spoken to her, even though she has more than made up for the lost time, by helping her raise me and my little brother.

We continued to talk until late in the night. He basically painted a picture about how CJ and I’s relationship went from day one, until this very day. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that I loved him whole heartedly. Which is why it probably ended so poorly the first time. I felt that I couldn’t ever have that same un restrained love that I was more than willing to share with him.

*****: you protected him
*****: cared for him
MattyB.: you have no idea.
*****: wait
*****: did you ever feel he got high so that he
could be with you?
*****: and then not remember
MattyB.: i feel that it was easier for him to cope with.
MattyB.: .. this is actually kind of a rough subject for
me.

I almost felt tears welling up inside of me. I had never talked to anyone about ho I had felt about CJ, to anyone. Not even CJ. Not even myself.

People don’t quite understand what it means to have a relationship with me. I didn’t have an opportunity to have a strong family connection while I was growing up. I always relied and depended on my friends to be my support system, my family. All of my friends know that. I spend all of my time talking to and spending time with them. Everyone knows that I have a very tight-knit group, that I spend LITERALLY all of my time with. I treat my friends as my pseudo family.

I don’t know what it is.
I have a little more searching to do I guess.

"All I Wanted Was Just A Night With You-"
Matty B.

”I’ve Got My Hair Fixed, Makeup Done, I’m Ready To Go. I Walk In the Club, and You Know I’m The Show-“

The Marquee was packed. Chelsea and I arrived a comfortable (and fashionable) 45 minutes late. No need to show up when the doors open. The last thing I need is to shit in an empty auditorium downtown, looking like I have nothing better to do. When we arrived, we walked up to the will call booth to pick up our tickets. Moments later, we were passing by security guards, and walking up to my very fabulous friend Rock Star Aaron, (very popular and noted Denver DJ) who happened to be one of the hosts of the event. After someone (that neither one of us knew) snapped a photograph or two, I bid him farewell, and scoped the place out with my new favorite person, Chelsea. Not moments later did we run into a crowd of my adult (21+) friends, drinking brightly colored drinks in wide rimmed glasses. I was thrilled to have people over the age of 16 recognize me, and bombard me with hugs, for once.

Chelsea and I met at the salon that I work for, Fix. She not only is my direct supervisor, but is also the owner’s daughter. She’s tall, thin, fierce, and has the most beautiful wavy platinum and blonde extensions. In many ways, she is the “Skipper” to my “Ken”. She is a huge fan of the band “the Chain Gang on 1974”, who happened to be playing with my favorite band Jeffree Star. Naturally we were stoked, and HAD to go together. We even planned matching outfits.

Every band that played that night was even better live. The crowd was screaming, the music was blaring, it was easily the best live performance I have ever seen. And in the Marquee, no less! Right before Jeffree came onto the stage, a very familiar song started to blare from the speakers. “Spice Up Your Life” by the Spice Girls blasted all around you, as he came out onto the stage. I turned to look at my posse of friends, and you could see the thrill and excitement in their expression. By the time Jeffree had finished his first song, the entire crowd was in complete and udder awe. His hair was bright pink, his clothes were tight. The band that was playing for him, and doing back up vocals Electric Valentine were dressed in tight black straight leg pants, and rocked glitter accessories that matched their make up. It was a beautiful sight to see.

After Jeffree Star and Electric Valentine finished their set, I made my way over to the merchandise tables, to meet and greet with him. A few minutes later I was standing with the lead singer of Chain Gang, Kam, and was talking to him and his girlfriend Chelsea, about live music and upcoming shows that they were going to have. Suddenly, I get a small tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, it was a small group of 14-16 year old kids wearing plastic beaded bracelet’s, with big smiles and sweaty faces.

The tallest (and I assume oldest) of the group sheepishly stepped forward, and said very quietly,” Are you Matty B.eautiful?”

I smiled and said,” I am! And who might you be, little one?”

She turned to her friends, blushed and giggled; then said “I’m Daisy. This is Eric, Jem, Kiki- (the list continues, but I regrettably couldn’t, for the life of me, remember all of their names.) Could we get a picture with you?”

I laughed and said “Of course you can.”

They all huddled around me, and one of the girls fumbled with their digital camera. Soon, I was posing for photos with each one individually. 5 minutes and what seemed like 100 kids later, I was thanked with a hug (that left a makeup stain on my shirt), and they were gone. I turned back to the merchandise booth and looked at Chelsea, who was smiling and laughing.

When i was 16, i would frequent parties and raves, which soon led me to become a dancer for two major production companies. In a matter of months, I was dancing on stage for some of the world's bigget DJ's. Trajjik, Heavygrinder, Icey, Miss Lisa, I started spending the weekends with fabulous people who loved music as much as i did. I was working at a bakery, wearing flour stained aprons by day, and dancing my heart out on stage, wearing hot pink booty shorts by night. I suppose that was the very beginning of a B.eautiful revolution.

I spent every waking moment studying pop culture. From listening to Millionaires and Jeffree Star, to studying his and Raquel Reed's photographs, so that i could further develop my make up artistry skills. I wanted to live and be that life: a living easel that could be explored, colored, cut, coped and experienced. I spend my life living and breathing art, whether it is through dance, writing, photography, or being photographed… I live and breathe art.

Naturally, spending so much time submerged in the hipster culture scene, I’ve learned and picked up a few things. I may not necessarily live in California, New York, or Miami, but I think it’s important to be knowledgeable of popular hot spots, and trendy places to be, if I happen to find myself in a situation where I have to opportunity to network.

ChrisCashe: omg, did u go to tracks last night?
MattyB.: i didn't, i rarely go to tracks these days
ChrisCashe: i went with 2 friends, and met up with a few others. and got kicked out after being there for 2 hours. it sucked. almost got arrested for underage drinking. lol I was buzzzin hard and talked my way out of it.
MattyB.: Well the Denver PD are push overs. (plus they love some drunken twink ass)
ChrisCashe: yeah it sucked . and i saw my ex there flaunting sthit around
MattyB.: That's what tracks is about. Seeing exes and flaunting shit. Well, that and being groped by their employees.
ChrisCashe: i'm so not from colorado
MattyB.: where are you from?
ChrisCashe: I'm from Oklahoma
MattyB.: did you used to go to the Wreck Room?
ChrisCashe: I had plans to go with a bunch of friends, but left before I could. You know about Oklahoma?
MattyB.: i know everything.
ChrisCashe: lol whatever! have u been to OKC or something/?
MattyB.: no i've never been
ChrisCashe: omg how did u know about it!!!!!!!!!!!!! hhahaha!
MattyB.: i've been told that i'm "just one of those people who just know everything about everyone." ;)
ChrisCashe: that's what i hear.

After all the bands played, Chelsea and I invited Kam and his girlfriend Chelsea to go to Denver Diner with us. They were stoked, and insisted on coming… right after they loaded their truck. We had a few drinks at the bar next door, while we waited for them to finish. About 45 minutes later, Chelsea called me, and told us that they were about done. When we went out front to meet them, Jeffree was just leaving his tour bus with a gaggle of tattooed gays. Behind him, was his manager MissE, who was desperately looking for a light for her cigarette. A thanks, a wink, and a pearly white smile later, we stood there and talked about live music for almost an hour. MissE was not only a super cool chick (it was her birthday that night!), but she was also down to earth, telling me about some of her and Jeffree’s secret inside stories about their tour that they had. I laughed out loud when she told me that he’s been arrested for assault SEVEN times, and that she budgeted bail money into their tour expenses.

Around 2am, I bid her farewell, after promising her that I would myspace her the next day, and get information about them playing on the Hurley Stage during Warped Tour. Apparently, we “had to get with her, so that we can party together!” She even told me a few trade secrets about how to get back stage, which I plan to utilize.

To top off the night, as we were walking away, we ran into the two members of Electric Valentine, and gushed about how amazing they were on stage. They were more than happy to give us their 3 Song EP Demo Disc and a hug, before we trotted off to Denver Diner to meet Kam and Chelsea.

On the drive back home, Chels and I blasted Electric Valentine’s “All I Wanted” from the litte speakers in her Scion. She was sitting in the passenger seat looking at the T-Shirts we got, and chatting about how we have to continue to see these small venue shows. In all honesty I have to agree. When an artist is performing at a smaller venue, it’s almost like they are trying harder. And it definitely shows.

Having that close intimate connection with someone, while they’re sharing their music with you… is the beauty of live performance. I know that I’m always giving it my all when I’m dancing on stage, always trying to give more and more of myself, even when there is nothing left. That’s what makes a great performer, in my opinion. Always looking for more, and always giving more.

Maybe I just have a soft spot for people in the lime light. Maybe I have a soft spot for artists. Either way, it was one of the best nights of my life… and I think I’ve finally found my niche. Not at the gay bars, not at the gay clubs, not even at the coffee shops… I think my new love affair is the underground music scene.

I haven’t felt that alive in a long time. You should experience it for yourself.

Next Concert I’m THRILLED to see: Millionaires with Breathe Carolina at Cervantes.

” I want a man like me, but hotter. To eat me out like Jeffery Dahmer.-“
Matty B.

"I Never Knew A Heart [like yours] Existed, Outside Of Make Believe!"

I was talking to my friend Kyle yesterday, about the whole "Blog Scandal" that has been happening this past week. Apparently a lot of people were very angry that i would air their dirty laundry so openly. (Chances are, is that you're reading my blog right now to see if your name, or someone you knows name is in it). Not only are the people immidiately involved a bit perturbed, but the people they sleep with weren't too pleased either. In case you've been living under a rock, i'll spell it out for you: everyone on campus, is sleeping with everyone else. Or... that's what a naturally assumed. (and we all see where that got me!)

Over the past few months, Kyle has been crushing on this guy that we both became acquainted with at Brady's party. He was cute, funny, had an awesome taste in comedians. Not only that, but Kyle and him shared a class together, and frequently got to talk and study together. After hearing that Kyle was interested in him, i told him that he should totally go for it! As any serial dater (like myself) would say, if you want something, go get it. No use sitting around and waiting for it to fall in your lap, right? Nothing will happen in your life if you don't spark change. Plus, living is no fun without a variable or two.

So he did as i suggested. a little light flirting and a few hang outs later, they made a study date! How exciting is that? This super cute boy that he likes, agrees to come and go over some... notes. The lights are dim, with acoustic rock playing in the background. of course you're wearing your most expensive jeans, but play it off like it's totally casual. you offer him a drink, and naturally he accepts. Suddenly you're laughing about the professor's disgusting tweed coat he always wears, and how the tests are so hard that you never seem to get in enough studying. One thing leads to another, and your iPod's shuffle setting starts to play "Black Tongue" by: the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The look in his eye and the smirk resting on his lips, tell you it's on.

But wait! You're pulled back to reality, where you notice his most recent facebook update, detailing that he's in a relationship with a friend of yours! you laid down all this ground work for this amazing cinematic evening that would ideally lead you to the most amazing first sexual experience. Naturally, you find that he is not available, and the entire time you thought he was interested in you, he wasn't. What a fucking break. How typical.

We have all been in these situations, where you think that you are on the same level with this person, then you're slapped in the face with a harsh dose of reality. Like we all are, Kyle was a bit discouraged. As someone with a third person view, i was a bit confounded as to why this boy wasn't interested. Let's be honest here: Kyle is smart, funny, and has a good head on his shoulders. He's tall and thin, looks great in a tie and vest, and frankly has one of the most developed musical tastes that i've encountered in a long time. (next to my own of course.) ;)

Then i take a look at my most recent interactions with men. Whenever i meet someone that i am interested in, i'm always dropping hints, subtlety making them aware of what a great person they are, and constantly compliment them. i suggest music to them that i think they would like, and insist we go out to fabulous restaurants, always finding an excuse to touch them. Unfortunately it's a rarity that BOYS pick up on such discreet flirtations. I've found that the only way to get a boy's attention is to yell in their face that you want them to fuck you. Even then there are occasions where they are still confused.

For Kyle, that isn't an option. He is the first virgin at CU that i have ever met. He takes the health of his body very seriously (like myself), and doesn't just fuck ANYONE that lives across the hall from him at the dorms. I find that an incredibly attractive personality trait. having respect for yourself and your body is a moral that many of my friends are not familiar with.

I told an old friend of mine (that i recently pissed off), that it wasn't all about the six packs and the bubble butts. Believe it or not, there are more to people than how they can appease your sexual appetites. I personally find that intelligence and charisma can be sexier than any bulge or dimple. However, people need to learn on their own, rather than take my advice. That ultimately results in a plethora of life lessons for me to write about, which keeps all of you reading.

I told Kyle that he shouldn't get discouraged, because he has yet to find someone that has the depth and intelligence that he would need from someone. Plus, it's better to be safe and hold onto something a little longer, than to be sorry about how you lost it. I sure learned that lesson early.

I have a feeling that his spirits are going to be lifted soon. I'm going to visit him this week!

Stay tuned for updates!

"You're Not Depressed, You're Just Still Learning-"
Matty B.

“You're So Nice and You're So Smart. You're Such a Good Friend, I Have To Break Your Heart.”

People spend their lives looking for that one thing that makes them exponentially happy. Usually, it’s something that is almost impossible to find. For some it’s that gorgeous downtown loft. For others it’s that gorgeous man with an 8 pack and an 8 inch uncut cock. For me, it’s that fantastic person that completely captures my life. They’re my best friend, my confidant, and my partner.

When I first moved out of my mom’s house, it was Bri. We lived and loved life together. We had the world in common, and spent every moment experiencing it. In high school, it was Brady. I didn’t have many friends at the beginning of my senior year, because I had spent the previous year doting over him. We were attached at the… hip. When I moved to Denver, it was Ashley, and Aimee. We would go to the club together, drink together, go to school together, and go to the gym together…

I tend to surround myself with people that I care about, and treat every moment with them like it was my last, because you never know when it may be. Of course, I am still friends with them, but not like I used to be. Between work, school, and living situations, we’ve drifted apart. One un-replied text message turns into three unanswered phone calls. Suddenly, we’re drifting off each other’s “Top 8” on myspace, and we’re merely a friendly picture comment every few months.

Usually it’s of equal fault because of our mutual negligence. However, the turmoil in my most recent friendship was almost entirely my fault. These days, I think I look for the flaws in people, because I feel pessimistic towards the outcome. After Jenna and my HUGE blow out witch each other senior year of high school, and being phased out by my so-called best friends CJ and Tasha, after I relocated to Denver, I have had a hard time opening up to people. Since my separation from CJ and Tasha, I think that I can honestly say that I haven’t loved someone as much as I loved them. CJ and I talk occasionally, but it always just leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth, because I know it’ll never be the same.

I made a few assumptions about Jeff that I perhaps shouldn’t have. Perhaps I said a few things that I could have kept to myself. I have a hard time trusting and naturally assume the worst from the people I consider to be close to me. I think it’s because I’ve been lied to, dissed and dismissed by so many previous “best friends”. At this point, I just assume that anyone who holds that title is going to turn out just like the one before, and that I should just enjoy it while it lasts… because it won’t. This of course, isn’t a positive way to think about my friends, nor is it a way to live life.

I spend a lot of time preaching that people should try to see the world in its purest form, when I myself can’t manage to see past my own pessimism. Looking in at myself, I see that I am setting myself up for failure by writing everyone off as an asshole, before giving them a chance. This is hypocritical because I’m always trying to get people to see me as an individual, rather than grouped in with the rest of the “bitchy gays”. Thus my inner conflict.

Of course I didn’t sabotage all this by myself, however it was suggested that I don’t point my finger so directly at people. Apparently some don’t look as good under the limelight, as I do. Meaning, I don’t have secrets and masks. I put all my shit out in the open for people to see… and that is what makes me real. I’m not afraid of judgment, like other people are.

I’m not one the regret and wish about things that I had done in the past. I try to work it out, and if I can’t, I learn from it and move on. I talked to Jeff last night, and tried to talk things out with him, about my most recent blog posts. As of last night, I think we came to an understanding. People who don’t know me, have been calling me “noble” and a “marauder”… and not in a nice way. If they spent any time with me at all, they would know how I approach people, and understand that that is how I am all the time.

..if that makes me noble, then so be it.

Brady and I talked tonight for a few hours. First over text, then we talked on the phone, after I got home from dance. As Brady said to me in a text message this evening:

“As a defense, I should also say that people are entitled to their secrets. But if the secrets put others at risk, that’s when people should know.”

I responded:
“I absolutely agree. Can I use that as a quote for my blog?”

He then said:
“What, the entitled to their secrets part? Sure. I might get emails now too tho. ;)”

We both find this entire situation very amusing. I’ve been to a hundred parties where liquor and what they ate for lunch, wasn’t the only thing people were purging. Word vomit is only magnified when you add alcohol to it. The difference between me and THE REST OF THE GAY COMMUNITY, is that I’m not intimidated to voice my opinion. Anything I say or write about, I would comfortable saying to their face.

I don’t know if that makes me honest or a just a bitch. Either way, I’m not stereotypical, and I pride myself on that.

“I tell you that i love you then i'll tear your world apart.
just pretend i didn't tear your world apart”
Matty B.

"If You Don't Like The Effects, Don't Produce The Cause"


Apparently people get mad when you write about them. Especially when what you write about them could be true.

I've spent the weekend getting some much needed rest and relaxation. Last week, i started my new job, working as the Reservationist Coordinator at FIX Salon (I'm a salon manager, in a nutshell), as well as worked out every day this week.

I've decided that i am going to work out every day until the summer. I've been talking about how i want to get into shape, and reform my lifestyle to a healthy one, for many years. I start by going to the gym a few times, then get distracted by reality television, and end up hating myself a month and a half later.

So I've decided to make necessary cuts in my life, to trim the fat from my lifestyle. So far, I've quit eating candy and empty carbs, cut down on drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes, and spent at least an hour and a half every day at the gym. I've also decided to clear my conscious. Re connect with people that i wasn't activley nice to, as well as let people know that i don't appreciate what they are saying about me. I've managed to get on the good side on a few guys that I've lightly dated over the past few months, that i didn't spend the time nurturing a new relationship with. With yin comes yang, and i also was forced to cut toxic people out of my life. So far, the body count is 16.

Just now, Nick contacted me via Instant Chat on Connexion. Our conversation was brief, but he got out what he had to say. He told em that we weren't friends anymore, that it was fucked up for me to use names, and that he was going to get me kicked out over every place he ever saw me. *sigh* the trial and tribulations of being a gay man. to the outsider, this would look out of the ordinary. some person whom I've never mentioned in my blog telling me about how he was going to "kick me out of every party and club he ever sees me at". Little does the public know, that Jeff has been fucking him on and off for over a year. So naturally, he would run to his defense. i don't blame him.

What i think is fucked up, is that Jeff sent the link to my blog out to everyone, telling them what an asshole i am. THAT is even worse than using names. Basically, Jeff is broadcasting my blog to the Boulder Gay community, letting them know who's names I've been using, and what they have. it appears that Jeff is going for the jugular.

I don't think people realize how many emails a day i get via myspace and connexion, telling me how much they hate me, what an evil tranny bitch i am. I honestly try to be kind to everyone, but one unreplied comment only snowballs into a group of gays spamming me with hate because i can't actively seek them out and comment all their pictures. It's exhausting, but i do my best. As far as their insults go, they are just as unoriginal as heterosexual men. Seriously, if i hear someone call me a tranny faggot, or slut one more time, i will laugh in their face. Maybe people these days aren't as literate as they used to be, but come on! Open Microsoft Word, type the word "slut","faggot", or "whore" then hit F7 (for the thesaurus), and find something a bit more creative.

A friend of mine CW, invited me to a party a few weeks ago. I was very excited to get out of Boulder and venture to the big city, where excitement was sure to be awaiting me. I put my face on, got all dressed, did my hurr, and was walking out the door. I called him, and asked what he was doing. He said that he just got an 8 Ball of coke, and was so excited to do it. My face fell almost as fast as my stomach dropped. I frowned, and told him that i had made other plans, and that he KNEW that i didn't party like that anymore. I was getting too old for that shit. He laughed, and said that everyone knew that i still did it, and i should come over, so we could reunite as Matty B. & Cory Williams Y/G Stylin'. I told him I'd pass, and slid my Helio closed.

Not an hour later, I received emails sending me links to bulletins, blogs, and comments which fumed about how i was a stuck up bitch, who thought i was better then everyone else. "Who is he kidding? That hoe bag parties hardr than the rest of us, im sure! What a slut! He's probs fuckin sum guy to get drugz as we speak," said one comment.

I pulled out my make up remover wipes, and took off my face. I stepped into the shower, and let the hot water stream over my body. The worst part is that i try really hard.

There's more to come. This is only part one.

"What do you do when it all falls down?"
Matty B.

“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.