Second Date MasQUEERade


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

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

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

Joke was on me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joke was on me, yet again.

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

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

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

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

I haven’t called him.

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

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

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

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

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

Matty B.

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

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

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

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

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

[pause.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you measure, measure a year?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I try to be like Grace Kelly
Matty B.

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

Eleven months. Almost to the date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matty B.

Pick a Little, Talk a Little

I took my wonderful friend Jeni to Prom last night. It was definitely an… experience, to say the least.

We started off the day with coffee, shopping, and hair. While she was getting her Gwen Stefani curls done, I rushed around Longmont, pulling the last bits and pieces of the puzzle together. Camera? Check. Dress? Check. Earrings? Boot Flask? Gin? Check. Check. Check.
I slid the knot of my powder blue tie into place, as Jeni slipped into her spring-style dress. Teeth check? Perfect. Hair? Flawless.

As we drove over to a friend of Jeni’s house, we sucked down matching cigarettes, and managed to leave matching ash marks on our matching outfits. Shrugging it off, we floored the gas, and laughed the rest of the way.

When we arrived, it was absolute chaos. There was a poperazzi of people waiting with cameras and adoring faces, just dying to shoot their loads rolls of film. After 25 minutes of happy faces, serious faces, Hollywood poses and silly faces, I shoved the handle of gin next to the bottle of rum, zipped up my bag, and we were on our way to dinner at PF Changs.

We arrived ten minutes late, and we were well on our way to being drunk. Prom Date Ken, complete with surfer hair and boot flask I spent the entirety of dinner discretely pouring alcohol into our drinks, and slamming them one by one. By the time our plates were being cleared, I managed to hit on our waiter, wink at a bus boy, accidentally molest Jeni’s Mormon school mate, and call these rude fat girls [who were giving MY date dirty looks] “-round, shiny, fat chicks, who shouldn’t be eating out in public, they should be at home crying, and eating nothing. I mean how desperate can their dates be? Everytime they have sex; a new crevasse, a new experience!”

PROM was FUCKED.
We looked hot. We danced hard, we played hard, and we were fierce. Considering what little time I had to pull my look together, we did an amazing job, if I say so myself. People I used to go to school with, were glaring and staring. The teachers were outraged, the girls were pissed that my date was so gorgeous. After five minutes, we were like, let’s go.

So we went to Jeni’s “boyfriend’s” house.
I drank more and passed out. It was the most glamorous ending to a night I could have imagined.

It’s funny that I continue to go to these functions. They’re all exactly the same. Dumb guys who can’t tell they head from their asshole, and bitchy girls that squeeze into little dresses, who call everyone else a whore, even though they don’t even realize their big old titty’s hangin’ out.

It always unfortunately ends the same, as well. At the end of the night, I’m holding a bottle in one hand, and a drunken girl in the other. Being the gentleman that I am, I tuck ‘em in, take a last swing, and hope that I pass out before the realization that I’m completely alone at the end of a seemingly “romantic” night.

It’s interesting how people take it so seriously. The dress, the dinner, the pictures. It’s just a dance. And at the end of the night, everyone’s alone.

Sunrise, Sunrise, It's like morning in your eyes.
Matty B.

All The Things That I Used to Know, Have Gone Out The Window

I recently met this wonderful woman, that was introduced to me as “Mama”. I sat there with my dear friend Jenny, and talked to this woman for hours. From the second I started talking to her, to the time I clicked my car door shut, she treated both of us as complete equals.

Mama is a 40 something bisexual marketing executive for a Denver newspaper agency, who has three+ children, a Jap-African bisexual boyfriend, and lives in a beautiful town home in Longmont. [they actually exist!] Every beer we drank, was matched by love war story. This woman has seen it all. She gave me advice with sexual, personal, and even business relationships. The best part is, is that she listened and took our advice as well.

Our main focus of the evening was the similarity of the relationship with her current boyfriend, and my disaster of a relationship with David. It was amazing how she was three times my age, and in the exact same predicament as I was. I could whip out some crayons and make a third grade “Venn Diagram” to accurately portray the similarities.

Both of our men were large and masculine. They both hated the sight of blood, and were beautiful singers. These men were both some of the best sex we’ve had, as well as the kindest, most sensitive, charismatic people we’d ever met. They both had just ended a very long term relationship, and were still moving on. Where we differed was that after we presented our very apparent affection for the other, Mama’s man embraced it, while David did not.

We must have talked for hours. I told her about how I packed a bottle of white wine [our favorite], some bre, and trekked out to Boulder via bus, during the biggest blizzard of the season. Even though he bailed on me, after pushing the goddamn bus out of a snow drift, traveling for 7 hours, and arriving to Boulder soaking wet, Mama just helped me realize how much I actually had to offer a man.

I debated with her for hours, explaining how I never did anything like that before, and it was completely uncharacteristic of me to have so much faith in someone. She only responded, that while it may be uncharacteristic, it’s still in me, and that I shouldn’t let go of that faith. I scrunched my nose, and sat back in my chair, still unsatisfied with her answer. She responded to the distain on my face with a smile, and a swift kick in the shin.

While I rubbed my shin, she explained to me that while I might feel bitter towards men right now, the fact that I could open up to someone like that, is amazing. And the fact that I actually still go on dates and even talk to men is just the first step to finding someone that will be able to appreciate what I have to offer. While I still had my reservations about men, it was nice to have an open conversation with someone about a subject I was still so sensitive about.

It’s unfortunate because recently, friends have actually turned out to be less than friends. It seems that I have to spare even my closest friends from “personal” talk, because no one knows what to say. The look of extreme discomfort settles over their face, and I immediately regret bringing my troubles up. It was just so refreshing to have an ADULT conversation with someone who very clearly knew what the hell they were talking about.

Sometimes, what you have to offer is terrifying to someone. Usually because they had no idea that you had it in you. I realize that I appear vapid and shallow, but people have to understand that there is always some sort of depth to an individual.

As I scroll through the gaytabase I look at all the beautiful shirtless men, flexing and smiling coyly. Do I change my behavior, accept that I appear void of character, and exploit my physical attributes? Or do I take another stab at finding someone worth while? I suppose that is still to be determined.

Straight up now tell me, do you really want love?
Matty B.

I’ve Been Given A Chance At A Do-Over, And I Consider Myself Lucky


The past couple of weeks my moods and relationships has seamlessly reflected the weather. On Monday last week, it was 45 degrees and lightly rained. On Tuesday, it was 55 without a cloud in the sky. Wednesday and Thursday, I think I might have even seen a snowflake, that was followed by a beautiful bright and sunny weekend.

I used to have some really good friends. I won’t lie, in high school, we ruled the school. Tasha and I were one of the two most popular people there. I was a 16 year-old with my own place, and she was a skinny, hot, funny European girl. Carter didn’t go to our school anymore, but he was exclusively dating Tasha, and soon became my best friend, making his popularity sky rocket.

I established myself my junior year when I transferred, and was dating a senior boy, that went there. We were the “it” couple, but broke up at the end of the school year. I suppose you can’t see what an amazing person you have, until they aren’t there anymore.

When I came back to school, I met Tasha in our gym class… which happened to be “Aerobic Walking”. Soon, the three of us became best friends, and were the most loved and hated people in the school.

I recently stopped speaking with Carter because of his “irresponsibility’s” not only with his friends and family, but with himself. Because of my decision to get clean, I had to cut out the negativity in my life. When he was faced with two choices, dirty attention from sleazy little candy kids was more important to him, than person he promised he would always be there for; his partner.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made the same choice he did. I was faced with two options. One was to be a clean kid, with my best friend in the whole world, Bri. She was the only person in the entire world that I didn’t need any sort of substance, to have an abundance of fun with. What did I do? Well, I went from living with my other half, to sitting in my studio apartment smoking a cigarette and sporadically responding to myspace comments from 13-year-old “scene” boys that convince themselves that life in suburbia is absolutely inhabitable and that their live journal is the only way they can vent about their unmanagable middle-class lives.

The problem here isn’t the fact that a cherished relationship has been displaced, but that after we both walked away clean, I’m plagued with talk that my name is being smeared by people that think they know me. It’s one thing to be hated because I’ve treated you poorly, or because I’m talking mad shit about you, but it’s quite another to hate me because I’m doing what’s best and what’s healthiest for me.

It’s actually kind of interesting, that once I move on from the whole sticky situation, and I actually start doing wonderful things for myself, I start hearing hub-bub on myspace and connexion about how old friends are starting unnecessary feuds, telling lies, and proving to everyone how jealous they of about me.

I get it, I used to be addicted to drugs. I talked shit, I was horrible. But the question is:
Should I revert back to the old ways, pull a Gretchen, and start spilling secrets? Or do I keep my lips tightly pressed together, smile, and let jealous children attempt to play their games?

I’m a better and different person, now. I learn from my mistakes, and I take credit when, due. I wasn’t the best friend I could have been. I wasn’t always 100% supportive, and I didn’t always have the most time on my hands. Oh hello! I’m a seventeen year old homosexual boy attempting to not only live on my own, but manage a social life where my main focus is sobriety and getting healthy. You can talk as much shit as you want, but I was ALWAYS there when it counted most. I was ALWAYS brutally honest, and I was abundant in love.

When your life was upside down, I was there for you. ALL of you. When anyone’s life is a mess, I come in and fix it. That’s what I do. People don’t always like to hear the truth, but that’s all I have to offer them. Truth and love. A lot of the time, that’s too much for some people. Hey I might come across as a raging bitch, insecure, or even just an asshole… At first. But no one I know can say that I haven’t cared. In the past I’ve been a little manic about how I’ve come across, but thanks to my dear friend Eric, a horribly failed relationship with David, and the demise of the “Boulder Raving Crew”, I’ve learned that I need to be upfront with people with my opinion: I give it to them once, and that’s my two cents. I have to let people live their lives, and make their own mistakes. I care too much, I know. But I’ve learned to let people choose their own paths. Even though they might be walking into a mess of trouble, I have to bite the bullet.

So while I’m biting my tongue, others are shooting me with passive aggressive verbal assault. They’re trying to exploit me, because they are jealous that I can walk away with a clean slate.

The decision’s been made. I’m a better person.
And haters are just gonna have to hate.


I may not be perfect, but i'm sure as hell better than you.
Matty B.

Addicted to Addiction

The setting is always the same: hard plastic chairs set in a circle, a musty scent plaguing the air, and a random assortment of people who all ended up in the same position: on their back, belly up, and completely hopeless to their addictions. While their stories vary from person to person, everyone has the same furrowed brow, that matches their fear of an unmanageable life.

While reading literature at home and flipping through all the support groups, I see that there are more and more groups organizing, trying to get each themselves help. There must be a hundred groups ranging from “NA” to “AA“; from “Anorexics Anonymous” to “Over-Eaters Anonymous“. It seems that in this day in age, society is completely reliant on finding someone else that has their same addiction, and trying to get help for it. As my eyes scan the trails and trails of support groups, I stop abruptly at “Kleptomaniacs Anonymous“. I sit there in disbelief for a moment, and then try to search for “Group Therapy Addicts Anonymous”. Oh there it is. Right between “Sexual Compulsives Anonymous“ and “Narcissists Anonymous“. -Wait what?

I roll my eyes in disbelief, and I pack my gym bag to head out to 24 hour fitness. What ever happened to having problems, and working them out on your own? As I drive across town, and walk into my gym, I ask myself how we managed to become a society where enough isn’t ever enough? We always want more. If it’s a darker tan, or even a nicer, better car. Having nice things, or being in “good” condition, isn’t standard anymore. What? This house only has 6 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms? With a family of three, we must have at LEAST 8 bedrooms, and Won’t settle for anything less.

I park, and stroll into 24 Hour Fitness, and I’m immediately surrounded by gym-a-holic men, who are not only shaped like upside down triangles, but seem to have heads the size of their fists. As they strut around on their knuckles, their little tiny legs dangling and dragging behind them, I just smile to myself, and thank god that I was addicted to drugs, and not to the bench press.

What has this world come to, when looking good or feeling good, isn’t good enough anymore? Don’t get me wrong, There are people out there that have real problems that affect not only themselves, but the people around them, as well as society as a whole. But where do you draw the line?

I frequent the gym quite regularly. I have a set schedule: four days a week, where I elliptical, run, lift weights, do my core routine, and circuit train. If I decide to go to the gym more than that, I limit myself to a brief elliptical and hot tubing and a swim. Every time I go there, regardless to the time, I always see the same triangle people.

I like to think that I am fairly good shape, and consider myself to have a slim athletic body type. While I might feel good about myself, for some reason I always seem to have people raising a brow, like I’m being judged on the runway, or something. I won’t lie, one of the appeals of the gym is seeing gorgeous men there, lifting weights getting sweaty, and of course the shower. But why does everyone feel that they have to always do more, more, more?

I went on a date a few weeks ago, with a young man in his mid 20’s, fairly attractive, and clearly on the track to be successful. That wasn’t was attracted me to him though. He had this incredibly dry humor, that not many people possessed or could relate to, like I did. Not only was he funny and charming, but he seemed like he had a real head on his shoulders.

On our second date, I took him to Paris on the Platte, a “hip” restaurant in LoDo that’s open late on the weekends. (which is definitely the appeal to me).
Mistake Number One: He ordered himself a sandwich and chips, and when the waitress asked me what I would like, he replied, “He’ll have the chicken ceaser salad.”…
Mistake Number Two: when I turned to him and told him I was vegetarian, he responded, “It’ll be good for you.” …
Mistake Number Three: We were talking about what we did in our free time (our first date had been a berief meeting at a local coffee shop), he told me he liked cars and hiking. He asked me what I did with my free time, and I responded that I go to the gym four times a week. He said,” Really? It doesn’t show. You should go more.”…

While he was in the bathroom, I got up from the table, and walked out. I walked 3 miles home, in the middle of the night, because I had met a toxic man. This asshole thought that it was okay to not only be a raging ASSHOLE, but express that my body wasn’t good enough. I have no visible love handles, and I like to think that I was in pretty good shape, considering I was just getting in shape for summer. I wanted to BETCH SLAP that DECK, but I figured walking out would be a bigger impact.

It’s men like this that make people feel that they have to do something drastic in order to “recover” from their horrible experience. Whether is was go blow a gram to loose some weight, console yourself by diving into a greasy hamburger, or flying to the gym to power lift, people feel that they need to have an adverse reaction to themselves, instead of realizing that these people are just asshole. So what? Someone called you fat. Doesn’t mean I have to run to the gym, diet pills in pocket and membership card in hand. There comes a time when you have to take the time to be addicted to not being addicted. And the best way to do that is to accept that that only person who can hurt you as well as the only person that can help you, is yourself.

Today is going to be a good day.
Matty B.

When Work Turns To Love

I’ve recently found myself trying to give back to the community. I’ve had this push to start trying make things right with the world. My first step was going to meetings. My second? Starting to make my amends with the people I have wronged. My third step, is giving back to the community by working for an environmentalist group, centrally located here in Denver.

The setting has been the same, so far. We meet as a group, talk a little bit about of ourselves, identify with , each other, hop into a car, and one by one get dropped off at our respective destination points, usually during really horrible weather. At the end of the day, we all come together, compare our findings and donations, and finish the night off with some paperwork and a drink.

I’ve found that this is not unlike the dating world.

I start in cold, unfamiliar territory, where no one looks inviting. Searching for the most amicable, I spot the cleanest one, with the most guise. I have to pump myself up, to get the nerve to approach, followed by brief interaction, a few moments to pitch myself to them, followed by my heart pounding out of my chest, waiting if I’ve done a satisfactory job, convincing them that I’m a worthy cause.

Today alone, I knocked on 84 doors, actually talked to 42 people, and only received 6 donations.

After about the first hour of canvassing, I stood there on the corner of 18th and Monroe, wondering exactly I was doing wrong. At that point, I had run into an old friend, had a handful of pennies thrown at me (one hitting me in the face) and had made NO money. I sucked down my cigarette in angst, and really thought to myself as to why I was un-relatable. As I finished my cigarette, I thought maybe it was the way I was dressed, or perhaps the way I approached them. I fixed myself up, and pitched to them in a completely different way.

An hour and a half later, with my balls the temperature of a martini I so desperately wanted to drink, I found myself on the a similar corner, two blocks down, cigarette in hand. I then thought to myself, maybe I need to eye out the territory a little bit better, and see which ones look the most promising. I flicked out my smoke into the gutter, pulled my hat snug, readjusted myself, fixed my glasses, and marched right up to the next door with a smile on my face, and my heart on my sleeve.

It wasn’t until 4 hours of canvassing, I realized that it wasn’t my appearance, how I went about pitching the idea of donations, or even the fact that I was freezing my ass off in an environment that I was completely unfamiliar. It was that people are tired of giving; the world is tapped out of compassion.

It’s the end of the day, and I’m sitting in the back seat, crammed in with the feeling of failure and distraught. I spent the entire day looking for passion in the world, and love for their community, and way more often, than not, I was completely denied.

My fellow environmentalist turns to me and asks,” Matty, how many donations did you get?”
I respond, ”Six.”
She then asks, “How many people invited you into their home, while you were pitching to them?”
I think for a moment, frown, and say, “Oh I don’t know, maybe 20?”
She smiles and says, “sweetheart, it’s not about how much money you make, or how many donations. It’s about people giving to you what they can, and you sharing what you have to offer them. They may not have been able to give you money, but they opened their home to you, so you could get out of the harsh conditions of the outside cold. What you have to offer them is awareness and education. You help them become a better person, while they shelter you from the cold. Our goal is to inspire thought and change, to make them become better people. You were doing their job, and they were doing theirs.”
I sat there absolutely stunned at the fact that something so groundbreaking could come out of such a small, rather quiet person.
For the rest of the car ride back to our office in LoDo, I just pondered the whole idea of changing people. Yes, once in ever 20 people I meet and interact with I might get something of substance from, but with every human contact I make, we both change a grow from each other.

Maybe that’s what’s life’s about. Not measuring yourself by how many people have loved you, but how many times you’ve put yourself out there to be loved, and how many life’s you’ve changed along the way.

Either way, while I sit here rubbing my sore legs, I know that not only have I changed other people just a little bit, I definitely know that I have changed for the better. As cliché’s as it’s sounds, the hard work in poor conditions have built some character.

I can brown, I can be blue, I can be violet sky, I can be purple, I can be anything, anything i would like.
Matty B.

Rose Up Off The Doctor's Slab

Someone gave me hope today.
And that is amazing.

I gave a piece to my mother, and a piece to my man.
Matty B.

"This May Be Jibberish To You, But I Think I'm Tragedy-"

I don't like talking poorly in this blog,
because people read it.


I think that the winds will be changing,
and that i will be living life a little different.

There's nothing wrong with him, he just likes to poke until you pop.
Matty B.

You Are My Sweetest Downfall, I Loved You First

My meter is running on empty.
My eyes, relaxed.
My heart just sinks,
Knowing that you have no knowledge of what you put me through,
Knowing that you don’t even care.
I remember a future.
Growing old,
And you finally releasing your fears.
I remember a future where I lie in your arms,
And you whisper you love me.
I remember a past.
Sitting in your car,
Driving away from the wreck of the day.
I remember a past,
Where I fell asleep in your arms,
And even though you couldn’t admit it,
I felt loved.
I remember a present.
Where I’m not falling in love,
I’m just falling to pieces.
I remember a present,
Where I thought we meant more to each other,
Than material things.
You remind me that it’s harder to love,
Than it is to hate.
I sit here,
In a crowded coffee shop, completely alone.
Because of the things that come out of your mouth,
Make me doubt whether or not love
Or honesty
Exist.
I refuse to believe that it’s only me.
Just hear me out,
We’re not done, quite yet.
Candy kids,
And gossip among the beautifuls,
It’s all circumstantial.
I refused to believe that it was only you,
Talking like that.
However it seems to always to come back to you.
Just listen up,
You’ve misplaced your heart.
Just speak up,
I know you’re there.
This sun hasn’t set.
I can’t keep this love afloat, alone.
I’ve been trying,
But I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t watch you ruin your life,
And not say anything, anymore.
You want to target your anger towards me,
When I’m not deserving of such hate.
You’re being unfair,
And I’m worth more than this.
I love you, baby.
You mean the world to me, baby.
I told you,
I’ll follow you into the dark.
But you have to be able to find the light.
Because I can’t do it for you,
that’s become clear.
You tell me you were with me,
When I was fighting me demons.
When really, you were one of the causes.
You say you held my hand through my addiction,
While all I did was try to make myself more appealing to you.
It took time,
But I realized that i would never be good enough for you,
And when I looked in the mirror,
I wasn’t good enough for myself.
While I held a sword to my fears,
You were just introducing another into my life.
Nothing is ever enough for you.
I’m helpless trying to fill the gap you so desperately need filled.
I know that I’m the only one that can attempt to fill it,
But you could care less.
Words words words,
You say you love me,
But all I hear is adverse propaganda,
And whispered lies.
Actions speak louder than words,
And all I hear is tripe.
You ask the world of me,
And I give you that and more.
I ask nothing of you,
And you give me less than that.
When will you realize how much I love,
How much I care?
It’s clear you don’t need another love to crutch upon,
You need a reality check.
And that breaks my heart.

On a rainy monday...
Matty B.

Telephone

The gay community as a whole is such a strong, united front.
We stand up for equal rights,
We rally for a cure for AIDS,
however if you take a closer look at this "unity",
you'll actually find bitter cat fights,
pointless feuds,
and not-so-secret backstabbing.

Here's me [former raging cunt]
trying to be a better person.
Trying to be nice,
attempting to make friends in the gay community.

Guess old reps die hard.

I guess i'll just have to keep makin' that effort.

Everybody's talkin', that's how they do.
Matty B.

Only Human

Things have been really good recently.
I've been doing well at work, keeping busy:
Going to the gym regularly,
Recently became vegetarian,
I've been spending a lot of time with some good friends,
and i've even managed to have a decent relationship with my mother.


Springtime is wonderful like that.

I like love.
Matty B.

Could'a Should'a Would'a

This weekend was beautiful.
Started off with a Saturday with my mom and little brother.
We went to the St.Patrick's Day Parade in Downtown Denver,
and it was absolutely ridiculous.
I had such a fun time hanging out with my family,
just the three of us.. like it used to be.
It was heart warming.

Sunday, I was greeted by the afternoon sunlight,
And the warm breeze of spring.
I had brunch at Mona's with Miss.KatieHolmes,
Followed by a leisurely afternoon in the park,
where I ran into Guatemala Bean.
I wished her a happy birthday [She's 22!],
Ignored her NASTY BITCH exGirlfriend,
and went back and lied in the grass.
I had an entire posse with me,
Mr.HeyGURL!, Eric, MissOtherWoman, and MissKatieHolmes.

It was funny, because we saw Nic cruising the park in his little white car,
then 15 minutes later, he was riding passenger in Mr.SpeedRacer's Cadillac Convertable.

It was just funny, because it was like he was trying to make "an entrance" to no where.
We all just laughed at how silly he looked.
It would have been one thing, to just show up in the Caddy,
but to skulk around the park in the little Jelly Bean car,
and then show up, trying to make an entrance.
It was silly, and just added to the humor of our delightful afternoon
I mean, it's not like he bought the car or anything..
The fact that he was driving around in the passenger seat
just means that he has successful friends.

However, I don't blame him.
A girl loves a convertable, and I am no exception.
It was just a beautiful day, altogether.

Sunrise, Sunrise, It's Like Morning In Your Eyes.
Matty B.

Figures A and B

New York was beautiful.
It was fast paced,
Lod,
Crazy,
Fun:
Alive.

The minute I stepped off the train, and stepped into Penn Square,
I knew that that was where I belonged.
I'm making preperations to go back.

It just blew my mind.
What 'tude?
Matty B.

Hello Again

I had a dream about you.
New York City,
The lights were bright,
almost competing with your smile.
We were getting out of a cab,
and you opened my door,
helping me out.
You tossed a $10 at the driver,
led me on the sidewalk,
To the front of a sparkling movie theater.
You wrapped your arms around me
and pulled me in close.
I could smell the cologne I bought you
and your breath was warm, thick; familliar.
You had a cheeky grin on your face.
You slid your arm down the small of my back,
and used your entire body to kiss me.
I could feel it all,
How you were a little scruffy on your cheek,
the soft hair and smooth skin on your arms,
the small curls in your hair,
the slight fog of your glasses.
You told me you loved me.
I woke up.

And then I cried.

Is It Finally Time To Get The Fuck Out Of Colorado?
Matty B.

Law and Order

I'm getting emotional.
I'm prepared.
I'm sad.
I'm trilled.
I'm terrified.
I'm terrified that i'm going to fall in love with her,
and NEVER come back.

It's the same fear my friends and family have.
Because we all know,
that there has to be more to life than coming off ecstacy in Mr.Angel's dad's basement.
There has to be more to life than pretending to like someone,
so that he doesn't talk shit, and make everyone hate you.
There has ot be more than horrible gays at the club,
just to hate.
There has to be someone out there that won't take me for granted,
that can appreciate the honesty and loyalty I have to offer.
There has to be more out there,
than just getting fucked.

Once, I would like to wake up with someone next to me.
..and be able to remember the previous night.

I just want someone who will smile when i trip on something and fall over,
Someone that will laugh when i fall out of bed..
Someone who grins when i burn the toast.
Someone who grabs the keys to go out to breakfast,
when i'm clearly still too sleepy to make breakfast properly.

I want security.
I want to be able to take care of someone,
and in return i want to be taken care of.
When i'm brushing my teeth,
and i look into the mirror,
I want to feel arms around my waist, hugging me,
and a smile.
When i dance around the apartment cleaning,
and dancing to music in just my underwear,
I want that to be appreciated.
I want to live.
And I can't do that here.

Hit it Fergie!
Matty B.

This Is How The Beat Drops.

I leave for New York Today.
I lie awake in my bed.
It's 1am.
The orange glow of the city lines my blinds,
and sloftly rests on my face.
I close my eyes,
but REM is the furthest thing from my mind.
I turn on my side,
and pull my comforter under my chin.
I wrap my arms around the thick goose-feather blanket,
and embrace it; hard.
I'm doing it.
I'm getting out.

Let Me See Ya Do The Jane Fonda.
Matty B.

If You Have The Choice To Sit It Out, Or Dance, I Hope You Dance.

I just got off the the phone with my mother.
She insists that come visit her.
She thinks i'm never going to come back.

And she most definatly could be right.

FIDM? Fuck that
Matty B.