Who Cares About the Young Folks?
I decided to start attending the Art Institute for two reasons: One, they offered EXACTLY what I wanted to get a degree in. Two, they said after I turned 18, they would be able to offer me loans and grants that would, not only pay for school, but would also help with living expenses as well as supply costs. To say the least, I’ve been anticipating my birthday because I could FINALLY stop working 70 hour weeks at two different jobs. I could relax a little, and focus 110% on school.
School is very important to me, especially if I’m paying for it. Because I moved out when I was 15 I spent two years of high school trying to balance jobs and school, and it ultimately drove me to dropping out, because of how exhausting it is. I swore to myself that when I went to college, it would be different. I would finally be able to do be a “normal” student, who had the opportunity to dedicate himself to his degree.
My financial aid officer let me know today, that that wasn’t going to happen.
A week after applying for a number of loans, grant, and scholarships, the department head of the financial aid office sat me down, and we had a little discussion. Not only had I been denied ALL loans that I had applied for, for living expenses, but because I don’t have a co-signer, I was denied ALL loans period. Including ones that would cover tuition. For me, school costs $8,223.00 a semester. That doesn’t include supplies or lab fees. Just 6 classes a quarter, once a week. That’s $18,000.00 a year.
I can’t afford that.
This had been the 8th time I went to financial aid, looking for help. Isn’t that their job? After speaking to everyone and their mother, I still had no answers, and nowhere to turn. After speaking to the head of the department, my spirits were low. She asked me why I was attending the most expensive school in the state, if I had no money. I replied, it’s because I am so passionate about art, I will do almost anything to stay. She studied me for a moment, as I grabbed my things and stormed out of the office.
I’m the first person in my family to go to college, and now I know why. I called my mother in tears. She said that perhaps I should look into other schools. It’s early enough in my schooling, where if I were to transfer, I could just cut my losses with AI, and start over fresh. She says I should aim for the new year, and apply for spring semester.
Maybe she’s right. I’ve noticed a trend recently with myself: When something looks really good, I get excited about it. When something sounds really good, I take action. When something turns out to be amazing, I dedicate myself to it. However, when shit hits the fan, and things aren’t quite what they seem, I start to doubt myself. Then when the problems are too great, I get overwhelmed, and run away.
Just like men. Whenever I’m in a relationship, I feel trapped, and I don’t know what to do. So I break it off. Happened with Roby, and it’ll happen again.
They say anything worth having, you have to work for. Well, when do you know if you’re working at something that will never happen?
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I definitely look forward to my admissions meeting at CU Denver.
Matty B.
Friday, August 24, 2007
“Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving”
“I wish I was thirty, flirty, and thriving!” Those were the words that fast-forwarded Jennifer Garner’s character from the prepubescent age of thirteen, to the successful, attractive, “big shot” magazine executive, at the age of thirty, in the movie, “Thirteen Going on Thirty”.
At the end of the movie, she learned that she had treated her best friend wrong, and realized that everything she ever dreamed of was right where she left it: in a huge house in the middle of Connecticut, at the age of thirteen.
Well what happens when your childhood as well as your adulthood, are less than perfect? Why does that tall, skinny bitch get to have an amazing career, a gorgeous boyfriend, and still manage to have that fresh, rested look on her face, in the morning? That’s not happiness you see on her face, it’s a really good MAC foundation and bronzer.
I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, and I was concerned at what was staring back at me. The face was all too familiar: Pale, sickly, exhausted, and full of worry. The difference now, is that instead of me just waking up after a six-day coke binge, I was waking up after six, thirteen-hour workdays.
When I got to school this morning, I was immediately directed to the Financial Aid Department, where they told me I owe them thousands of dollars. After I leave, I walk to a computer lab, so I can apply for loans. I was declined. Then I go back to the Financial Aid Department, and they can’t help me, I have to schedule another appointment. So I do, for next Thursday.
As I sit here and think, I seem to have a revelation: their shit here stinks. I’m the first person in my family to go to college. EVER. Although I LOVE going to school, and I LOVE doing the projects assigned to me, the fact that they are creating all of these obstacles, just because I want to learn is bullshit.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted. Maybe it’s because I have been feeling sick for almost a week, and I just can’t seem to get a good night’s rest.
I know two things: I’ve been jumping through their flaming hoops, like a good little lion, but that is going to stop.
The other?
I need a hug.
Being an adult is just like being a kid. Except now I’m in debt.
*sigh*
Matty B.
“I wish I was thirty, flirty, and thriving!” Those were the words that fast-forwarded Jennifer Garner’s character from the prepubescent age of thirteen, to the successful, attractive, “big shot” magazine executive, at the age of thirty, in the movie, “Thirteen Going on Thirty”.
At the end of the movie, she learned that she had treated her best friend wrong, and realized that everything she ever dreamed of was right where she left it: in a huge house in the middle of Connecticut, at the age of thirteen.
Well what happens when your childhood as well as your adulthood, are less than perfect? Why does that tall, skinny bitch get to have an amazing career, a gorgeous boyfriend, and still manage to have that fresh, rested look on her face, in the morning? That’s not happiness you see on her face, it’s a really good MAC foundation and bronzer.
I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, and I was concerned at what was staring back at me. The face was all too familiar: Pale, sickly, exhausted, and full of worry. The difference now, is that instead of me just waking up after a six-day coke binge, I was waking up after six, thirteen-hour workdays.
When I got to school this morning, I was immediately directed to the Financial Aid Department, where they told me I owe them thousands of dollars. After I leave, I walk to a computer lab, so I can apply for loans. I was declined. Then I go back to the Financial Aid Department, and they can’t help me, I have to schedule another appointment. So I do, for next Thursday.
As I sit here and think, I seem to have a revelation: their shit here stinks. I’m the first person in my family to go to college. EVER. Although I LOVE going to school, and I LOVE doing the projects assigned to me, the fact that they are creating all of these obstacles, just because I want to learn is bullshit.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted. Maybe it’s because I have been feeling sick for almost a week, and I just can’t seem to get a good night’s rest.
I know two things: I’ve been jumping through their flaming hoops, like a good little lion, but that is going to stop.
The other?
I need a hug.
Being an adult is just like being a kid. Except now I’m in debt.
*sigh*
Matty B.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The New Girl in Town [Part One:]
The bright afternoon sunlight gently caressed my face, as I looked up to the deep blue sky. As I clicked my cell phone shut, the reality that I was an adult had just begun to don on me. Stacy as US BANK was delighted to tell me that the credit card I applied for this morning was approved. However, instead of the standard $300 limit, they were going to give me $1000.
I walked into Safeway to buy Eric a pack of cigarettes, while he was picking up his black button up shirt from the dry cleaners, for this evening’s festivities. I handed Anne my ID card, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was giving me a sideways look. I had completely forgotten about the sparkling pink tiara that was delicately resting on my head. I politely explained to her that it was my birthday. She flicked her eyes to my ID, and declared that, yes, it was my birthday. She wished me well, and I was on my way.
I skipped out, and it seemed that the world was a bit brighter. All my fears about becoming an adult just vanished in a matter of moments. In mere hours, I’d be surrounded by all of my good friends, old and new. I’d be dancing the night away, and there’s nothing better.
I am thrilled, to say the least.
Matty B.
The bright afternoon sunlight gently caressed my face, as I looked up to the deep blue sky. As I clicked my cell phone shut, the reality that I was an adult had just begun to don on me. Stacy as US BANK was delighted to tell me that the credit card I applied for this morning was approved. However, instead of the standard $300 limit, they were going to give me $1000.
I walked into Safeway to buy Eric a pack of cigarettes, while he was picking up his black button up shirt from the dry cleaners, for this evening’s festivities. I handed Anne my ID card, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was giving me a sideways look. I had completely forgotten about the sparkling pink tiara that was delicately resting on my head. I politely explained to her that it was my birthday. She flicked her eyes to my ID, and declared that, yes, it was my birthday. She wished me well, and I was on my way.
I skipped out, and it seemed that the world was a bit brighter. All my fears about becoming an adult just vanished in a matter of moments. In mere hours, I’d be surrounded by all of my good friends, old and new. I’d be dancing the night away, and there’s nothing better.
I am thrilled, to say the least.
Matty B.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Perfect Day
I finally had my first full night’s rest, since moving into my new apartment. There was a cool summer breeze that kept me huddled under my new duvet cover all night, My 1,000 thread count Egyptian Cotton Sheets were comfortably broken in, and I was exhausted from working my ass off on the set of a fashion shoot all day.
10:51am. I was scheduled to work in 9 minutes. Knowing that the next bus would be coming at 11:36am, I took a deep breath, called a co-worker to notify her that I was going to be an hour late. Even though my morning was off to a rocky start, I was determined to set it back on track.
I slipped off my clothes, and slinked into the shower. I started my morning with a start: First with an invigorating body scrub from my work, followed by a small bowl of granola, finishing with a quick flatiron of my hair, and a cigarette. I swiped a banana off the counter to take for lunch, and headed out.
As I finished my second cigarette, the bus pulled up ten minutes late. But not before splashing a huge puddle of black gunk onto my new shoes. I frowned for a moment, brushed my hair from my face carelessly, tapped them off on the side of the bus and smiled at the bus driver, while I paid my fare.
I hopped off the bus, and started walking across the parking lot, towards the mall. As I crossed at the pedestrian cross walk, this crazed woman with fried white hair and an expression that resembled a cat’s asshole, screeched to a stop, less than a foot from my leg. I ignored her clear inability to drive, and kept walking to work.
Work was less than amusing, however I was working with my favorite co-worker, Asuka [Oss-kuh]. Then, I received a text message from Derek. He said he was in the area, and that he wanted to stop by and see me at work. This was an interesting situation, because not only was I not very attracted to him, but I had never met him before, and had only spoken with him very briefly a few times. However, my day was pretty boring, so I figured this would add an interesting turn in events. …And it did.
Although he was more attractive in person, he had nothing of value to say. His mouth was like a leaky tap that would not stop making useless noise. He was my ideal build: Big chest, strong arms, a bit of a beer gut; basically they body of a gorilla. However, it did not make up for the bad teeth, religious tattoos all over his body, and lack of cranial activity. We politely parted ways, he told me to call him when I got off work, and I told him I would.
Like the gentleman I am, I call him after I get off. I figure, although I’m not particularly attracted to him as far as dating goes; I haven’t been laid in quite some time, and he looked like he would at least be somewhat decent in bed.
He didn’t answer.
When I text him, he responds,” Sorry dude. I’m just not attracted to you.”
I pause for a moment, and re-read what he wrote. I text him back asking exactly he wasn’t attracted to. He responds,” I just like guys that are shorter than me, and you lip ring is a huge turn off.”
Those are two bits of information you could have gotten off of my profile on connexion. So not only was he an unattractive moron, but to add insult to injury, he was an unattractive moron who didn’t want to sleep with me. That is SO my life.
I walk to the bus stop, and start the ride home. I talk to my brother, and he tells me that if he doesn’t get this job in Chicago, he’ll be immediately moving to China, where he’ll teach ESL. He figures he won’t be back for five years or so. Apparently it’s expensive to fly back and visit.
I sit on my bus, with my head hung low. BFF Eric and BFF Steven were at Eric’s house in Broomfeild, while BFF Nic, was at Mary’s pregaming before a concert. I headed home, spirits and mood, low.
As I started my shower, I heard “California Dreamin’” by the Mama’s and the Papa’s. I smiled to myself and remembered that while I don’t always get to choose the circumstances of my life, I get to choose how I deal with them.
I wish the best to my brother.
And I can only look hopeful towards to future.
Because sometimes you need to deal with it alone.
Matty B.
I finally had my first full night’s rest, since moving into my new apartment. There was a cool summer breeze that kept me huddled under my new duvet cover all night, My 1,000 thread count Egyptian Cotton Sheets were comfortably broken in, and I was exhausted from working my ass off on the set of a fashion shoot all day.
10:51am. I was scheduled to work in 9 minutes. Knowing that the next bus would be coming at 11:36am, I took a deep breath, called a co-worker to notify her that I was going to be an hour late. Even though my morning was off to a rocky start, I was determined to set it back on track.
I slipped off my clothes, and slinked into the shower. I started my morning with a start: First with an invigorating body scrub from my work, followed by a small bowl of granola, finishing with a quick flatiron of my hair, and a cigarette. I swiped a banana off the counter to take for lunch, and headed out.
As I finished my second cigarette, the bus pulled up ten minutes late. But not before splashing a huge puddle of black gunk onto my new shoes. I frowned for a moment, brushed my hair from my face carelessly, tapped them off on the side of the bus and smiled at the bus driver, while I paid my fare.
I hopped off the bus, and started walking across the parking lot, towards the mall. As I crossed at the pedestrian cross walk, this crazed woman with fried white hair and an expression that resembled a cat’s asshole, screeched to a stop, less than a foot from my leg. I ignored her clear inability to drive, and kept walking to work.
Work was less than amusing, however I was working with my favorite co-worker, Asuka [Oss-kuh]. Then, I received a text message from Derek. He said he was in the area, and that he wanted to stop by and see me at work. This was an interesting situation, because not only was I not very attracted to him, but I had never met him before, and had only spoken with him very briefly a few times. However, my day was pretty boring, so I figured this would add an interesting turn in events. …And it did.
Although he was more attractive in person, he had nothing of value to say. His mouth was like a leaky tap that would not stop making useless noise. He was my ideal build: Big chest, strong arms, a bit of a beer gut; basically they body of a gorilla. However, it did not make up for the bad teeth, religious tattoos all over his body, and lack of cranial activity. We politely parted ways, he told me to call him when I got off work, and I told him I would.
Like the gentleman I am, I call him after I get off. I figure, although I’m not particularly attracted to him as far as dating goes; I haven’t been laid in quite some time, and he looked like he would at least be somewhat decent in bed.
He didn’t answer.
When I text him, he responds,” Sorry dude. I’m just not attracted to you.”
I pause for a moment, and re-read what he wrote. I text him back asking exactly he wasn’t attracted to. He responds,” I just like guys that are shorter than me, and you lip ring is a huge turn off.”
Those are two bits of information you could have gotten off of my profile on connexion. So not only was he an unattractive moron, but to add insult to injury, he was an unattractive moron who didn’t want to sleep with me. That is SO my life.
I walk to the bus stop, and start the ride home. I talk to my brother, and he tells me that if he doesn’t get this job in Chicago, he’ll be immediately moving to China, where he’ll teach ESL. He figures he won’t be back for five years or so. Apparently it’s expensive to fly back and visit.
I sit on my bus, with my head hung low. BFF Eric and BFF Steven were at Eric’s house in Broomfeild, while BFF Nic, was at Mary’s pregaming before a concert. I headed home, spirits and mood, low.
As I started my shower, I heard “California Dreamin’” by the Mama’s and the Papa’s. I smiled to myself and remembered that while I don’t always get to choose the circumstances of my life, I get to choose how I deal with them.
I wish the best to my brother.
And I can only look hopeful towards to future.
Because sometimes you need to deal with it alone.
Matty B.
Monday, August 06, 2007
That’s The Way We Get By
He told me today that he’s leaving. He’s going to road trip to Chicago, and he doesn’t think he’s going to come back.
I held the phone close to my head, and I dazed out in disbelief. I asked him when he was leaving. He replied,” Tomorrow. …I’m not going to be here for your birthday.” I closed my eyes, and hung up the phone without another word.
When I was 15, had no friends, and was forced to live in his mother’s abusive home, he was there. When I spent the entire day at a school with people that shared a mutual hatred with me, he would come pick me up and tell me it would all be okay. When I couldn’t deal with the world, we’d hide from his mother in the shed out in the back yard, and smoke chronic out of a makeshift bong made out of Styrofoam cups.
When I moved to Denver, and didn’t have a friend in the world, he would drive out to stay with me, to let me know that I wasn’t completely alone.
I shared a bed with my little brother until I was 13, and a room with him until I moved out. For two years, I haven’t had the rejuvenating sleep that I would get from sharing a bedroom. When I moved out, my older brother stepped up, and filled the void that my little brother had left.
When it’s your family, I don’t think you’re allowed to call it an unhealthy co-dependency. When you’re family, it’s called a bond.
While getting clean, he would talk me through long nights. Even if for only a minute, the fact that he was the one person in the world that I knew would answer his phone and talk to me... no matter what happened.
Over the past few months, I haven’t been as available to see him as much as I’d like. With going to school full time, and working two jobs, it’s been tasking. However, we’ve always kept touch. So when he called me and told me he wasn’t coming back, I was absolutely devastated. I still am.
It’s one of those tasking situations that life likes to throw at you, right when you think things are going to be all right. I’ve really prided myself on being emotionally independent for the past few years, and it’s been made very apparent to me how dependant I actually am.
I couldn’t hold the tears in, as “Family” off the Dreamgirls OST started up. It felt I was loosing a leg. It felt like I was loosing a part of me.
My mom says that he’ll run out of money, and will be knocking on my front door begging for a shower and some food in no time. The problem is, is what if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens? He’s not the most responsible man. Almost 21, he’s not even finished with his second year in college, and lives in his van. I love him regardless of his personal decisions. However, I don’t think he’s thought this through completely.
I shower off my emotions, and I step onto the dry carpet. Refreshed and new, I feel empowered. Maybe I don’t need him as much as I thought. You know what? If he wants to run off to Chicago, and never come back, let him.
I put on my face, and flatiron my hair. With every deep breath, I feel myself calm. It’s not like he’s never done this before. I ran away to Mongolia for three months, last summer, missing my birthday. He does this all the time. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I love him, but if I don’t let him make his own choices and mistakes, then how is he going to learn?
Good Riddence.
Matty B.
He told me today that he’s leaving. He’s going to road trip to Chicago, and he doesn’t think he’s going to come back.
I held the phone close to my head, and I dazed out in disbelief. I asked him when he was leaving. He replied,” Tomorrow. …I’m not going to be here for your birthday.” I closed my eyes, and hung up the phone without another word.
When I was 15, had no friends, and was forced to live in his mother’s abusive home, he was there. When I spent the entire day at a school with people that shared a mutual hatred with me, he would come pick me up and tell me it would all be okay. When I couldn’t deal with the world, we’d hide from his mother in the shed out in the back yard, and smoke chronic out of a makeshift bong made out of Styrofoam cups.
When I moved to Denver, and didn’t have a friend in the world, he would drive out to stay with me, to let me know that I wasn’t completely alone.
I shared a bed with my little brother until I was 13, and a room with him until I moved out. For two years, I haven’t had the rejuvenating sleep that I would get from sharing a bedroom. When I moved out, my older brother stepped up, and filled the void that my little brother had left.
When it’s your family, I don’t think you’re allowed to call it an unhealthy co-dependency. When you’re family, it’s called a bond.
While getting clean, he would talk me through long nights. Even if for only a minute, the fact that he was the one person in the world that I knew would answer his phone and talk to me... no matter what happened.
Over the past few months, I haven’t been as available to see him as much as I’d like. With going to school full time, and working two jobs, it’s been tasking. However, we’ve always kept touch. So when he called me and told me he wasn’t coming back, I was absolutely devastated. I still am.
It’s one of those tasking situations that life likes to throw at you, right when you think things are going to be all right. I’ve really prided myself on being emotionally independent for the past few years, and it’s been made very apparent to me how dependant I actually am.
I couldn’t hold the tears in, as “Family” off the Dreamgirls OST started up. It felt I was loosing a leg. It felt like I was loosing a part of me.
My mom says that he’ll run out of money, and will be knocking on my front door begging for a shower and some food in no time. The problem is, is what if he doesn’t come back? What if something happens? He’s not the most responsible man. Almost 21, he’s not even finished with his second year in college, and lives in his van. I love him regardless of his personal decisions. However, I don’t think he’s thought this through completely.
I shower off my emotions, and I step onto the dry carpet. Refreshed and new, I feel empowered. Maybe I don’t need him as much as I thought. You know what? If he wants to run off to Chicago, and never come back, let him.
I put on my face, and flatiron my hair. With every deep breath, I feel myself calm. It’s not like he’s never done this before. I ran away to Mongolia for three months, last summer, missing my birthday. He does this all the time. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I love him, but if I don’t let him make his own choices and mistakes, then how is he going to learn?
Good Riddence.
Matty B.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Quinceanera
My favorite television shows growing up were Law and Order: SVU, CSI: MIAMI, and Cold Case. So yes, moving to a big city is defiantly terrifying for me. Especially because if I fuck up, get murdered, or become homeless, I’ll have nowhere to go, or any clue what to do. However, I have a plan for my life, and I am destined to fulfill it.
My doubts weren’t if I was going to make it out here, but if I could make it out here alone, and by myself.
When I first moved to Denver 9 months ago (has it really been that long already?), I didn’t have very friends to my name. In fact, the fact that I was so alone, really pressured me into being outgoing enough to make new friends, start over fresh; thus the initial goal of my move.
It wasn’t easy, to say the least. I found myself running to the homes of old friends, in Boulder, where I felt safe, and accepted. This was a repeating occurrence for the first 4 months of living in Denver. In fact I even tried to date a boy that lived in Boulder, to perhaps force me to be there even more. I very quickly wizened up, realized that I was a big boy, and that I had moved to Denver to grow up: So I did.
Denver has been less than welcoming. My dear friend Nic was fortunate enough to get a warm welcome, he states in his blog. I however, as usual, am left fighting for new friendships, and acceptance among the VERY cliquey “Gay Denver Social Scene.” Through my Best Friend Eric’s employment at the most popular gay restaurant in the city, I’ve started to meet people, network, and even find a few friends.
He’s always telling me how my friends are always his friends. The people that I introduce to him end up being his friends as well. Well little does he know, that by waiting tables at this fagulous restaurant, he’s introduced me to a world of people that I could never begin to talk to.
Yes, straight women [and the occasional straight man] absolutely love me. I wear bronzer and I tell them what to wear. I dance with them at clubs, and I’ll willingly cut and style their hair. (Sorry about the rhyme) Yet no matter how many girlfriends I’ve had, I’ve just had an impossible time breaking into the gay scene, until I started hanging out more frequently with Nic and Eric.
Eric is my confidant. I tell him everything, and spend as much time with him as I can, not to mention the amount of time I spend sitting in his section at his restaurant. He introduces me to fabulous people, always has my back, and is always honest with me. And honesty is a difficult trait to find in a man. Especially a gay man.
Nic is my life coach. A few years my senior, he’s been through similar things I have: Big move to a new city, starting over from scratch, and breaking into the gay scene. He takes me to fabulous clubs, recently started dining with me, and always gives me advice when I so desperately need it. And of course poses for pictures with me while at a club or event.
Basically, I’ve been instilled with the whole package: Matty B.’s Starter Kit To Becoming Fabulous in The Mile High City.
While I don’t know what the future holds for me, I do know one thing: As my “coming out” date approaches, I know that I have two people at my side who can gently guide me in the right direction, as I develop as a person, and as a socialite.
Matty B.
My favorite television shows growing up were Law and Order: SVU, CSI: MIAMI, and Cold Case. So yes, moving to a big city is defiantly terrifying for me. Especially because if I fuck up, get murdered, or become homeless, I’ll have nowhere to go, or any clue what to do. However, I have a plan for my life, and I am destined to fulfill it.
My doubts weren’t if I was going to make it out here, but if I could make it out here alone, and by myself.
When I first moved to Denver 9 months ago (has it really been that long already?), I didn’t have very friends to my name. In fact, the fact that I was so alone, really pressured me into being outgoing enough to make new friends, start over fresh; thus the initial goal of my move.
It wasn’t easy, to say the least. I found myself running to the homes of old friends, in Boulder, where I felt safe, and accepted. This was a repeating occurrence for the first 4 months of living in Denver. In fact I even tried to date a boy that lived in Boulder, to perhaps force me to be there even more. I very quickly wizened up, realized that I was a big boy, and that I had moved to Denver to grow up: So I did.
Denver has been less than welcoming. My dear friend Nic was fortunate enough to get a warm welcome, he states in his blog. I however, as usual, am left fighting for new friendships, and acceptance among the VERY cliquey “Gay Denver Social Scene.” Through my Best Friend Eric’s employment at the most popular gay restaurant in the city, I’ve started to meet people, network, and even find a few friends.
He’s always telling me how my friends are always his friends. The people that I introduce to him end up being his friends as well. Well little does he know, that by waiting tables at this fagulous restaurant, he’s introduced me to a world of people that I could never begin to talk to.
Yes, straight women [and the occasional straight man] absolutely love me. I wear bronzer and I tell them what to wear. I dance with them at clubs, and I’ll willingly cut and style their hair. (Sorry about the rhyme) Yet no matter how many girlfriends I’ve had, I’ve just had an impossible time breaking into the gay scene, until I started hanging out more frequently with Nic and Eric.
Eric is my confidant. I tell him everything, and spend as much time with him as I can, not to mention the amount of time I spend sitting in his section at his restaurant. He introduces me to fabulous people, always has my back, and is always honest with me. And honesty is a difficult trait to find in a man. Especially a gay man.
Nic is my life coach. A few years my senior, he’s been through similar things I have: Big move to a new city, starting over from scratch, and breaking into the gay scene. He takes me to fabulous clubs, recently started dining with me, and always gives me advice when I so desperately need it. And of course poses for pictures with me while at a club or event.
Basically, I’ve been instilled with the whole package: Matty B.’s Starter Kit To Becoming Fabulous in The Mile High City.
While I don’t know what the future holds for me, I do know one thing: As my “coming out” date approaches, I know that I have two people at my side who can gently guide me in the right direction, as I develop as a person, and as a socialite.
Matty B.
You Said, You Can’t Change The Way You Feel, But I Can
Everyone had stone cold expressions. No one would make eye contact with me. I was walking through a Technicolor world that had a raging black ink stain. I couldn’t understand why everyone was so calm, so still. I frantically ran in circles around these people, waving my arms screaming at the top of my lungs, but no one made a sound. Not even me. My brothers were sitting next to each other. I ran past them, to see her bloody remains in the open casket. How could this have happened? Why hadn’t they prepared her for the viewing? Why was everyone so lost?
I could feel the beads of cold sweat slowly slide down my face. I was incredibly aware of my surroundings, and the people around me. I run to my brothers, and start shaking them; hitting them; crying. They both look at me with brilliant eyes, and I feel them pull away from me.
They say in unison,” What are you getting so upset about? You hated her. You’ve been wishing for this day your entire life. Everyone knows she hated you more than anything.”
Stunned, I take a step back. Was this what I had wanted? Spending my entire childhood picturing all the horrible things that should happen this wretched woman, finally did. Years later, after I gained my freedom. I start to cry, and run back to the open casket.
My mother looks up at me with a completely blank expression, not unlike how she used to greet me when I was a kid, after disappearing to Central City for weeks at a time. I rest my head on her chest, and my mind just wanders.
I’ve never really come to terms with my childhood. Nor have I ever come to terms with the horrible things that my mother used to do; whether or not it was directed towards my brother and I. As far as I’m concerned, my life started June 19th 2005, when I stood there in the rain, knocking at my cousin Vyckee’s door, holding my cheerleading duffle bag, filled with a few pairs of stained clothing, flip flops, $23.54, and a few photographs of friends and family.
Suddenly I’m standing with a totem pole expression, and I take her hand, and whisper, “I love you”. Her eyes go wide, and she leaps out, grabs my neck, and pulls me into the coffin.
I wake with a start. Third night in a row that I’ve had this terrifying dream, and I’m in the same familiar position as before; wiping sweat from my brow, brushing tears from my eyes, and breathing heavily. I lie back in my bed, and rest my eyes shut.
I’ve been pretending nothing has happened. Whenever something unfortunate happens, I shut it out, and paint a smile on my face. My entire philosophy on life is, “Nobody likes a Debby Downer!” as well as, “If you start the day with a smile, then you’ll finish it with one.”
For the most part, it seems to work. However recently, I’ve been finding that my mind has just been haunted by everything that has happened over the past decade. I believe that if you are going to get anywhere in your life, you have to accept the bad with the good. It seems though, that I’ve just been ignoring the bad, and trying to focus on the good… and that can be an exhausting feat within it’s self.
I sit at the bottom of the shower, and let the heat and pressure cleanse my body, as well as my mind. As time slowly passes, the waves of heat release the pent up emotional baggage that has been plaguing my mind for the past few weeks. I run my hands though my hair, and tilt my head back, to feel the water wash over my face. I slowly breathe in and out, relaxing my body, freeing my mind, and accepting the things that I cannot change about my life, and about myself.
As I towel myself off, I can already feel some weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I lie in my warm, dry bed, and try to think about how I can make tomorrow a better day for myself.
I don’t know if this will be an effective way to ward off these nightmares, but it’s defiantly a step in the right direction. Sometimes you just need to take a moment for yourself, assess your situation, accept the bad with the good, and reassure your optimism through moments of self-reflection.
They say that everyone is looking for that perfect soul mate. Well, I’m just looking for that perfect soul.
Matty B.
Everyone had stone cold expressions. No one would make eye contact with me. I was walking through a Technicolor world that had a raging black ink stain. I couldn’t understand why everyone was so calm, so still. I frantically ran in circles around these people, waving my arms screaming at the top of my lungs, but no one made a sound. Not even me. My brothers were sitting next to each other. I ran past them, to see her bloody remains in the open casket. How could this have happened? Why hadn’t they prepared her for the viewing? Why was everyone so lost?
I could feel the beads of cold sweat slowly slide down my face. I was incredibly aware of my surroundings, and the people around me. I run to my brothers, and start shaking them; hitting them; crying. They both look at me with brilliant eyes, and I feel them pull away from me.
They say in unison,” What are you getting so upset about? You hated her. You’ve been wishing for this day your entire life. Everyone knows she hated you more than anything.”
Stunned, I take a step back. Was this what I had wanted? Spending my entire childhood picturing all the horrible things that should happen this wretched woman, finally did. Years later, after I gained my freedom. I start to cry, and run back to the open casket.
My mother looks up at me with a completely blank expression, not unlike how she used to greet me when I was a kid, after disappearing to Central City for weeks at a time. I rest my head on her chest, and my mind just wanders.
I’ve never really come to terms with my childhood. Nor have I ever come to terms with the horrible things that my mother used to do; whether or not it was directed towards my brother and I. As far as I’m concerned, my life started June 19th 2005, when I stood there in the rain, knocking at my cousin Vyckee’s door, holding my cheerleading duffle bag, filled with a few pairs of stained clothing, flip flops, $23.54, and a few photographs of friends and family.
Suddenly I’m standing with a totem pole expression, and I take her hand, and whisper, “I love you”. Her eyes go wide, and she leaps out, grabs my neck, and pulls me into the coffin.
I wake with a start. Third night in a row that I’ve had this terrifying dream, and I’m in the same familiar position as before; wiping sweat from my brow, brushing tears from my eyes, and breathing heavily. I lie back in my bed, and rest my eyes shut.
I’ve been pretending nothing has happened. Whenever something unfortunate happens, I shut it out, and paint a smile on my face. My entire philosophy on life is, “Nobody likes a Debby Downer!” as well as, “If you start the day with a smile, then you’ll finish it with one.”
For the most part, it seems to work. However recently, I’ve been finding that my mind has just been haunted by everything that has happened over the past decade. I believe that if you are going to get anywhere in your life, you have to accept the bad with the good. It seems though, that I’ve just been ignoring the bad, and trying to focus on the good… and that can be an exhausting feat within it’s self.
I sit at the bottom of the shower, and let the heat and pressure cleanse my body, as well as my mind. As time slowly passes, the waves of heat release the pent up emotional baggage that has been plaguing my mind for the past few weeks. I run my hands though my hair, and tilt my head back, to feel the water wash over my face. I slowly breathe in and out, relaxing my body, freeing my mind, and accepting the things that I cannot change about my life, and about myself.
As I towel myself off, I can already feel some weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I lie in my warm, dry bed, and try to think about how I can make tomorrow a better day for myself.
I don’t know if this will be an effective way to ward off these nightmares, but it’s defiantly a step in the right direction. Sometimes you just need to take a moment for yourself, assess your situation, accept the bad with the good, and reassure your optimism through moments of self-reflection.
They say that everyone is looking for that perfect soul mate. Well, I’m just looking for that perfect soul.
Matty B.
Friday, July 27, 2007
It seems that it’s been a rough few weeks for a lot of people. While standing in the print shop today at school, I overheard one of the staff members talking to a friend of hers about how she hasn’t spoken with her dad in almost a week because she told him that she was a lesbian. Right before I finished my cigarette two hours earlier, I over heard a skinny blonde boy talking to his friends about how no matter what he does, he just can’t seem to get his boyfriend to open up to him. [Girl, I hear you.]
Over the past few days, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything that has been going wrong in my life: My continuing feud with my roommate, my immense amount of work followed by an abysmal pay, the fact that I didn’t have time to be with the friends and family that I love most, all topped off by the continuous addition of school work that appears to be endless.
When I feel like I need encouragement or motivation, I turn to my true hero: Elle Woods. Although a fictional character of the popular movie, book, and Broadway show “Legally Blond”, I feel that the way Amanda Brown captured the pure optimism of this woman is absolutely inspiring, and can be applied to real-life; my life.
Like Elle, I like to think that no one gets anywhere in life with a shitty attitude. And you know what? We’re right! You’d be very surprised how far a kind word and a friendly gesture can go. You can easily turn someone’s day around with a smile and a compliment. My friends know this. In fact I have two that know exactly what to say, to make me feel better. Unfortunately for me, one is very busy being a fabulous waiter “Hamburger Mary’s”, and the other is quite the drive to visit.
So, What Would Elle Woods Do? Would she bend and snap? How about an exfoliating facial cleanser? Better yet, what does Barbie do when she’s not seeing Ken anymore, She’s been working all day in 6” heels, and it feels like she’s made of cold, hard, plastic?
After my date with Mr. Constrictor, I felt like I was an empty shell of myself. I sat in the cab and thought about the previous night’s events. Flashbacks of him telling me,” You’re so gorgeous, I deserve you. You’re so fuckin’ hot. Get on my bed. Take off your pants.-” were all too overwhelming. Isn’t that what I want? A man who takes control, knows what he wants, who makes good money, and lives in LoDo?
I stood frozen in the shower, absolutely blank. The thought of me lying there expressionless was more than familiar. As I sat on my balcony and smoked a cigarette, I couldn’t feel a damn thing. I still can’t. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me two hours to write an entry.
When does it get better? Ever since I was a kid, everyone I know tells me that it’ll get better. Give it a few years, it’ll be amazing. Well, I’m days from being an official adult, and it has yet to kick in. I’ve missed my entire summer, because I’ve been stressing, working, and attempting to pull my life together enough to get a full night’s rest.
I can’t even enjoy the things I used to, because I’ve been so manic. At least while I was dating Mr.Revenge, he brought be back. Being a complete child wasn’t ALL bad, with him; he still knew how to have fun. He could lie around all day, and not have a care in the world. I can’t even finish a cigarette without thinking about whether or not I’ll have money to buy another pack.
I think I’m a bit over due for a vacation. Perhaps a few personal days. All I know is that I need to get out of my head, and spend more time with people that can make that possible.
Matty B.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Art Smart?
One of the biggest appeals of entering college was finally being treated like an adult. Little did I know, most of my teachers were either brand new and had no idea what they were talking about, or had taught the class so many times that they were completely distracted by their personal life, and had no intention or desire to give us the education that we sold our kidney’s to afford.
I walked into my Digital Media and Design class at 7:26am, and sat down at a computer, half way to the back of the class room. I wanted to make sure that I was close enough to see the projection screen, but far enough away from the teacher to discretely check MySpace and Connexion. The first thing out of her mouth was, “Who are you, and what on earth are you doing in my class?” I raised my gracefully arched eyebrow at her and replied,” I’m Matty B. I missed the first class, because of an error in my FASFA, and I wasn’t allowed to attend class, until it was figured out.”
While she stared at me blankly with her eyes glossed over, a dribble of drool delicately dripped from the side of her mouth. So I did what any American person would do when presented with the problem of talking to someone that appears to have a hard time understanding the basic words that are you coming out of your mouth; I repeated myself slowly and loudly.
I signed in, and sat down at my desk as she droned about how to use Microsoft Word. As she handed out the daily assignment, she started to present a Power Point Presentation about the history of camera’s. I reminded her that we weren’t in a photography, and that she was teaching A digital media course. She apparently realized that she wasn’t showing the right presentation, and instructed us to take a break.
As I smoked down my third cigarette of the day, I thought about al the previous teachers and professors I had had in the past. Growing up, my teachers have instilled two major rules in my life: Treat others the way you want to be treated, and if you wish to be treated like an adult, you must act like an adult.
What if the adults in your life act like children? Short tempered, poor people skills, and a complete density to what’s going on around them? While at an institution of learning, there’s a standard of how the professors should act, right? WRONG. In between power trips, and complete ignorance to the fact that they actually have to PREPARE for a class, the art of teaching has been completely lost.
I look for inspiration in my life. I associate my self with people that will make me a better person, or at least will direct me in that direction. Through friends and family, I seek intelligence, humor, and life. That’s why I attended the Art Institute of Colorado. I heard that it was full of cutting edge professors who had a passion for teaching.
I was wrong.
Instead, it’s full of money grubbing teachers who are stuck “teaching” classes they don’t want to. Passion? I think not. More like punishment.
Matty B.
One of the biggest appeals of entering college was finally being treated like an adult. Little did I know, most of my teachers were either brand new and had no idea what they were talking about, or had taught the class so many times that they were completely distracted by their personal life, and had no intention or desire to give us the education that we sold our kidney’s to afford.
I walked into my Digital Media and Design class at 7:26am, and sat down at a computer, half way to the back of the class room. I wanted to make sure that I was close enough to see the projection screen, but far enough away from the teacher to discretely check MySpace and Connexion. The first thing out of her mouth was, “Who are you, and what on earth are you doing in my class?” I raised my gracefully arched eyebrow at her and replied,” I’m Matty B. I missed the first class, because of an error in my FASFA, and I wasn’t allowed to attend class, until it was figured out.”
While she stared at me blankly with her eyes glossed over, a dribble of drool delicately dripped from the side of her mouth. So I did what any American person would do when presented with the problem of talking to someone that appears to have a hard time understanding the basic words that are you coming out of your mouth; I repeated myself slowly and loudly.
I signed in, and sat down at my desk as she droned about how to use Microsoft Word. As she handed out the daily assignment, she started to present a Power Point Presentation about the history of camera’s. I reminded her that we weren’t in a photography, and that she was teaching A digital media course. She apparently realized that she wasn’t showing the right presentation, and instructed us to take a break.
As I smoked down my third cigarette of the day, I thought about al the previous teachers and professors I had had in the past. Growing up, my teachers have instilled two major rules in my life: Treat others the way you want to be treated, and if you wish to be treated like an adult, you must act like an adult.
What if the adults in your life act like children? Short tempered, poor people skills, and a complete density to what’s going on around them? While at an institution of learning, there’s a standard of how the professors should act, right? WRONG. In between power trips, and complete ignorance to the fact that they actually have to PREPARE for a class, the art of teaching has been completely lost.
I look for inspiration in my life. I associate my self with people that will make me a better person, or at least will direct me in that direction. Through friends and family, I seek intelligence, humor, and life. That’s why I attended the Art Institute of Colorado. I heard that it was full of cutting edge professors who had a passion for teaching.
I was wrong.
Instead, it’s full of money grubbing teachers who are stuck “teaching” classes they don’t want to. Passion? I think not. More like punishment.
Matty B.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Bittersweet Symphony
They say that a good thing never lasts. And so far, it’s proven to be true. Am I one of those people that try and materialize something out of nothing? Convince myself that there’s a possibility for happiness with this person that I hardly know? I’m not one to place all my money in one bet, but I am someone that will put an investment towards something that has hopeful potential.
Mr. Revenge and I recently called it quits. Things were going amazingly, we had a blast together, we saw each other quite frequently, and when I was with him, it felt like home. So what was the problem, you ask? The problem is that he felt the same way about me, as I did about him. And for him, that was a terrifying concept. The last thing he said to me was, “I’m just meant to be single. I can’t handle all of this. I‘m done with us.” After realizing that he was breaking up with me, I immediately hung up on him. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing my reaction.
It’s funny to look back at the course of our very brief relationship, and attempt to recognize what exactly made me think that it could work out. He’s a 23 year-old grungy drug addict, who’s not only never had a real relationship in his entire life, but only has one real friend, whom he talks shit about when she’s not around. I try and date older men because they’re supposed to be mature, and in control of their life; pulled together if you will. However, that wasn’t the case, in this instance.
You know, the best part of Mr. Revenge, was that I felt like a kid again. I felt like I was in high school, I could go crazy, have fun, laugh, roll around in the hay, and it was alright. It was the most honest thing I felt in the past year, and it was great, no matter how short-lived.
This isn’t the only relationship that’s ended abruptly because it was “too good to be true”. After Brady and I broke up, his reasoning of staying separated was,” This can’t be it. I can’t spend the rest of my life with my high school sweetheart.” You’re right, that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen, because people won’t let it. He didn’t want to get married, go to college together, have three children, two cars, and a beautiful home, because that’s what his parents did. God forbid, he turn out like his parents: Happy, successful, and loving every minute of their life.
Since when did the “American Dream” become such a nightmare? Is it really that scary that people might actually want children, and a husband? I’ve talked to a few of my gay friends, and that’s the last thing on their mind. It’s almost a stigma to want such a nuclear lifestyle. While I sit here and write about relationships, their out doing poppers and getting fucked in an alleyway. Not that I’m saying that I’m against that behavior, but how is it, that an entire generation can give up on love so easily?
I try and pass the time by watching a season of Sex and the City. I’ve always been considered the “Samantha” of our group of friends, however it feels like lately I’ve been a bit worn out by the whole idea, all together. Maybe it’s been all the lack luster sex I’d been having. Or maybe it was just the horrible dates with a dozen assholes in the past few months, that threw me off my usually predatory behavior. But overall, I’ve just become bored with the whole scene.
As I talk more and more to my friends, it seems that there are very few of us that have idealistic views on relationships, and the future. It’s almost taboo to not be taboo. What do you mean you haven’t had sex in three months? What? You’ve never had sex in the TRACKS bathroom while high on coke? Everyone I know has! Everyone is attracted to drama. Let’s be honest here. I’d rather be reading Perez Hilton, than the wedding announcements in the local newspaper. I want to see grungy dirty sex, and people throwing drinks at each other! Give me some skanky red head with a drug addiction over Oprah any day!
At the end of the day though, I begin to realize that I begun to find a healthy balance. I’m not Samantha, fucking everyone that shoots me a friendly smile. However, I’m not that “insta-boyfriend” who feels they need to be in a relationship, either.
I’m not prefect, but I’m getting there. Until then, you’ll see me out there with open arms, and an open heart.
Matty B.
They say that a good thing never lasts. And so far, it’s proven to be true. Am I one of those people that try and materialize something out of nothing? Convince myself that there’s a possibility for happiness with this person that I hardly know? I’m not one to place all my money in one bet, but I am someone that will put an investment towards something that has hopeful potential.
Mr. Revenge and I recently called it quits. Things were going amazingly, we had a blast together, we saw each other quite frequently, and when I was with him, it felt like home. So what was the problem, you ask? The problem is that he felt the same way about me, as I did about him. And for him, that was a terrifying concept. The last thing he said to me was, “I’m just meant to be single. I can’t handle all of this. I‘m done with us.” After realizing that he was breaking up with me, I immediately hung up on him. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing my reaction.
It’s funny to look back at the course of our very brief relationship, and attempt to recognize what exactly made me think that it could work out. He’s a 23 year-old grungy drug addict, who’s not only never had a real relationship in his entire life, but only has one real friend, whom he talks shit about when she’s not around. I try and date older men because they’re supposed to be mature, and in control of their life; pulled together if you will. However, that wasn’t the case, in this instance.
You know, the best part of Mr. Revenge, was that I felt like a kid again. I felt like I was in high school, I could go crazy, have fun, laugh, roll around in the hay, and it was alright. It was the most honest thing I felt in the past year, and it was great, no matter how short-lived.
This isn’t the only relationship that’s ended abruptly because it was “too good to be true”. After Brady and I broke up, his reasoning of staying separated was,” This can’t be it. I can’t spend the rest of my life with my high school sweetheart.” You’re right, that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen, because people won’t let it. He didn’t want to get married, go to college together, have three children, two cars, and a beautiful home, because that’s what his parents did. God forbid, he turn out like his parents: Happy, successful, and loving every minute of their life.
Since when did the “American Dream” become such a nightmare? Is it really that scary that people might actually want children, and a husband? I’ve talked to a few of my gay friends, and that’s the last thing on their mind. It’s almost a stigma to want such a nuclear lifestyle. While I sit here and write about relationships, their out doing poppers and getting fucked in an alleyway. Not that I’m saying that I’m against that behavior, but how is it, that an entire generation can give up on love so easily?
I try and pass the time by watching a season of Sex and the City. I’ve always been considered the “Samantha” of our group of friends, however it feels like lately I’ve been a bit worn out by the whole idea, all together. Maybe it’s been all the lack luster sex I’d been having. Or maybe it was just the horrible dates with a dozen assholes in the past few months, that threw me off my usually predatory behavior. But overall, I’ve just become bored with the whole scene.
As I talk more and more to my friends, it seems that there are very few of us that have idealistic views on relationships, and the future. It’s almost taboo to not be taboo. What do you mean you haven’t had sex in three months? What? You’ve never had sex in the TRACKS bathroom while high on coke? Everyone I know has! Everyone is attracted to drama. Let’s be honest here. I’d rather be reading Perez Hilton, than the wedding announcements in the local newspaper. I want to see grungy dirty sex, and people throwing drinks at each other! Give me some skanky red head with a drug addiction over Oprah any day!
At the end of the day though, I begin to realize that I begun to find a healthy balance. I’m not Samantha, fucking everyone that shoots me a friendly smile. However, I’m not that “insta-boyfriend” who feels they need to be in a relationship, either.
I’m not prefect, but I’m getting there. Until then, you’ll see me out there with open arms, and an open heart.
Matty B.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Sweet Sweet Sweet Sweet Fire in the Street
11:02 am. I bolted upright, and as I tried to escape my impending death, I got tangled in the sheets, and fell hopelessly to the ground. The screeching alarm was deafening. I quickly grabbed a pair of underwear off my floor, followed by a t-shirt and some disgusting sweats. I scooped up my keys, laptop, and cigarettes, quickly brushed my teeth, and started hiking the six floors down, to the lobby.
It seems that someone on the third floor thinks that grilling in their living room at 11 am in the morning, is a good idea. As I walk into Panera bread, which is located in the first floor of my building, I notice that no one is even phased by the flashing lights, and deafening fire alarms going off. Everyone is eating their salads, as if nothing is happening, completely ignoring the fact that there could be someone burning alive just feet above them.
As I order my usual coffee, and take my place in the leather chair that I always sit in, I try to go about my business as usual. Open my computer, start it up… but I can’t help but be slightly thrown off by the fact that everyone is to distracted by their own lives, to realize that something real is happening. People on their cell phones, drinking their coffee, yelling about contracts… it’s exactly the type of person that I don’t want to be.
How do you know when you’ve become so involved with yourself, that you don’t even notice the world or people around you? Over the past few months I have to admit, I’ve been incredibly busy with school, working until my fingers bleed, and attempting to have a social life, so yes I became one of those people. Until recently.
I met Mr.Revenge at Denver Pride, this year. He grew up with my hairstylist, and is in school right now to become one as well. Kara introduced him to me, while I was dancing my heart out to DJ Heckler, and was looking less than appealing. He seemed real cool, but I was a bit intoxicated and distracted by the music, so I danced on my merry way.
Back at the apartment, Kara gave me a call. Apparently she was at the bar across the street, and wanted to come up. I was delighted to hear from her, so I went down and got her and Mr.Revenge. Since sobering up, he started to look a bit more appealing. He was even kind of funny, which I was surprised by. Who would’ve thought that there are men out there that are attractive AND funny?
We hit it off pretty quick. Kara wasn’t feeling well, so I cooked her some food. She decided to go home, and I was definitely disappointed, because I wanted to spend more time with Mr.Revenge, but she was his ride back to Loveland. After a quick phone call to Ashley, I offered him a ride home later the next day, if he wanted to stay. He happily accepted.
We talked all night. I laid in his arms, and we shared everything about each other. He told me his life. No one has ever been so upfront with me about things before. He had a very intimidating first impression, however feeling his body on mine, getting him to laugh, sharing cigarettes with him; it was the perfect first meeting.
And then there was the morning after. I dread morning after’s. I look like a train hit me. Doesn’t matter if I’ve been drinking, smoking, partying, or just had a quiet night. When I wake up in the morning, I AM NOT CUTE. I looked into his eyes. He brushed my tangled hair out of my face, and kissed me. He was as beautiful as ever. Messy hair, grin on his face. We got dressed, because I had to get him home at a decent hour.
The entire drive home, he had his hand either in mine, or on my leg. We stopped for coffee and gas, and flew down i25 to get him home. I thought about him for the rest of the day. And I saw him the next.
I don’t know what it is about him, but it’s a bit unsettling. All I know is that unlike the people around me, not only am I going to see this fire, but I’m going to let it burn.
Matty B.
11:02 am. I bolted upright, and as I tried to escape my impending death, I got tangled in the sheets, and fell hopelessly to the ground. The screeching alarm was deafening. I quickly grabbed a pair of underwear off my floor, followed by a t-shirt and some disgusting sweats. I scooped up my keys, laptop, and cigarettes, quickly brushed my teeth, and started hiking the six floors down, to the lobby.
It seems that someone on the third floor thinks that grilling in their living room at 11 am in the morning, is a good idea. As I walk into Panera bread, which is located in the first floor of my building, I notice that no one is even phased by the flashing lights, and deafening fire alarms going off. Everyone is eating their salads, as if nothing is happening, completely ignoring the fact that there could be someone burning alive just feet above them.
As I order my usual coffee, and take my place in the leather chair that I always sit in, I try to go about my business as usual. Open my computer, start it up… but I can’t help but be slightly thrown off by the fact that everyone is to distracted by their own lives, to realize that something real is happening. People on their cell phones, drinking their coffee, yelling about contracts… it’s exactly the type of person that I don’t want to be.
How do you know when you’ve become so involved with yourself, that you don’t even notice the world or people around you? Over the past few months I have to admit, I’ve been incredibly busy with school, working until my fingers bleed, and attempting to have a social life, so yes I became one of those people. Until recently.
I met Mr.Revenge at Denver Pride, this year. He grew up with my hairstylist, and is in school right now to become one as well. Kara introduced him to me, while I was dancing my heart out to DJ Heckler, and was looking less than appealing. He seemed real cool, but I was a bit intoxicated and distracted by the music, so I danced on my merry way.
Back at the apartment, Kara gave me a call. Apparently she was at the bar across the street, and wanted to come up. I was delighted to hear from her, so I went down and got her and Mr.Revenge. Since sobering up, he started to look a bit more appealing. He was even kind of funny, which I was surprised by. Who would’ve thought that there are men out there that are attractive AND funny?
We hit it off pretty quick. Kara wasn’t feeling well, so I cooked her some food. She decided to go home, and I was definitely disappointed, because I wanted to spend more time with Mr.Revenge, but she was his ride back to Loveland. After a quick phone call to Ashley, I offered him a ride home later the next day, if he wanted to stay. He happily accepted.
We talked all night. I laid in his arms, and we shared everything about each other. He told me his life. No one has ever been so upfront with me about things before. He had a very intimidating first impression, however feeling his body on mine, getting him to laugh, sharing cigarettes with him; it was the perfect first meeting.
And then there was the morning after. I dread morning after’s. I look like a train hit me. Doesn’t matter if I’ve been drinking, smoking, partying, or just had a quiet night. When I wake up in the morning, I AM NOT CUTE. I looked into his eyes. He brushed my tangled hair out of my face, and kissed me. He was as beautiful as ever. Messy hair, grin on his face. We got dressed, because I had to get him home at a decent hour.
The entire drive home, he had his hand either in mine, or on my leg. We stopped for coffee and gas, and flew down i25 to get him home. I thought about him for the rest of the day. And I saw him the next.
I don’t know what it is about him, but it’s a bit unsettling. All I know is that unlike the people around me, not only am I going to see this fire, but I’m going to let it burn.
Matty B.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Out And Proud
The dictionary defines the word Pride, as the state or feeling of being proud. I can safely say that everyone at this years Pride Festival 2007 was exuding that, and then some.
The music was amazing. Although the weather was unbearable and water was no where to be found, the fabulous fagulations of Denver were dancing their little hearts out. The hot weather, hot music, and hot men were almost overwhelming. However, I found that there was one thing that could cool me down from all the heat: my little purple paper bracelet.
The funny thing about alcohol, is that you seem to loose all your inhibitions... if you drink enough, that is. After my fourth Cranberry Stoli and what they were calling "PRIDE"'s, I seemed to escape the heat.. as well as half of my clothing.
Every year I absolutely look forward to PRIDE Fest. Lets be real here: This is my Christmas. I just delve myself in glitter and alcohol, whip out my flags, and dance my heart out.
DJ Heckler was amazing as usual. Although i didn't get to follow up with him at Vynil , i soaked up every last second that the DJ's spun.
To say the least, it was what was to be suspected.
Matty B.
The dictionary defines the word Pride, as the state or feeling of being proud. I can safely say that everyone at this years Pride Festival 2007 was exuding that, and then some.
The music was amazing. Although the weather was unbearable and water was no where to be found, the fabulous fagulations of Denver were dancing their little hearts out. The hot weather, hot music, and hot men were almost overwhelming. However, I found that there was one thing that could cool me down from all the heat: my little purple paper bracelet.
The funny thing about alcohol, is that you seem to loose all your inhibitions... if you drink enough, that is. After my fourth Cranberry Stoli and what they were calling "PRIDE"'s, I seemed to escape the heat.. as well as half of my clothing.
Every year I absolutely look forward to PRIDE Fest. Lets be real here: This is my Christmas. I just delve myself in glitter and alcohol, whip out my flags, and dance my heart out.
DJ Heckler was amazing as usual. Although i didn't get to follow up with him at Vynil , i soaked up every last second that the DJ's spun.
To say the least, it was what was to be suspected.
Matty B.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
If These Walls Could Talk
I love to go into other people’s houses. I find that one of the best parts of meeting someone new, is being able to go into their house, and see how it’s decorated. Let’s be honest here: I’ve seen my fair share of bedrooms, however every time I walk into one, it’s completely different.
I went over to AJ’s house, a couple of months ago. He’s a 29 year-old black man that lives in the Denver Dry Lofts (only doors down from an old friend of mine, Steven). What’s so great about this building, is that it’s completely renovated, styled and painted very modern with tan carpets and beige walls, accented with stainless steel, and overlooks the breath taking Downtown Denver. However, they couldn’t be more differently decorated.
From what I remember (and it’s been months since I’ve visited Steven’s house), his apartment was VERY minimalist. He had two perfectly rectangular modern black futon-style couches facing each other, a glass coffee table in the middle, with a book of photography placed in the center, a smaller glass end table with three candle votives, a glass dining room table, and a chair next to the window, complete with ashtray, for guests. His bedroom was a bed pushed to the center of the far wall, beige down comforter, a light army-green accent throw and a cherry beside table with matching bookcase and bureau. He had three framed pictures of Lindsay Lohan cut from a magazine, and a photograph of all of us on his shelf.
What does his apartment say to me? Professional homosexual who (sometimes) strives for cleanliness and order. Everything has it’s place in his apartment, not unlike the people in his life. Not very sporadic and very un-lived in… almost secret. It exudes a magazine-apartment feel. An interesting perspective, but I adore his apartment, to say the least.
AJ’s apartment was the complete opposite. Clutter everywhere. The apartment was very African tribal art meets business bohemian. Dark leather couches, tapestry’s over everything. Covered in tribal art, floor to ceiling. Smelled of weed and sensual massage oil. The only thing better than his very passionate sex, was what I learned about him through his apartment. It was like I window into his soul: He loved to live in his passions. Very urban and very interesting.
It’s boggling how two apartments that are exactly the same, lived in by two gay men, could be so completely different. I am a personal believer that my home says a lot about me. Whether it be clean or dirty, minimal or cluttered; it speaks lengths about who I am.
Chad and I just moved to a new apartment together in the Downtown/ Capitol Hill area. Gorgeous downtown views, remodeled apartment, minimal lobby and elevators. He was the first person to start unpacking. I go to school and work full time, so I took a few days to pull myself together before opening the first box.
When I came home from work today, his room was finished, and the living room was cleared. There’s an oversized sofa, my television, and my CD player. Other than that, it’s completely BAREN. I talked it over with him, I’m we’re both very excited to hang pictures and art all over the walls. I’m very excited to make this art to put on the walls.
Where we differ, is our bedrooms. His is very similar to Steven’s. Since I am such an expressive person, I have a hard time understanding how someone could find comfort in such an empty room. I am such a loud and outgoing person, that my room screams red tan and maroon. There’s art already on the walls, accompanied by my favorite movie and signed band posters. You walk into my bedroom, and you immediately know what my favorite color is, what my favorite bands are, and what my favorite movie is. Hell, you even know my clothing style, what my friend’s look like, and what I like to do (I have an entire desk FULL of art supplies).
You walk into Chad’s room, and you see his bed, his night stand and a computer desk. I live with the man, and see his everyday, and I still have 101 questions to ask.
What does that say about Chad and I? We’re complete opposites. I am a very in-your-face, hey-how-are-ya, I’m Matty B, welcome to my life, sort of guy. Chad on the other hand is very introverted, quiet and reserved. Although we’ve hit a few bumps in the road, I know that I’m going to learn a ton from this guy. Maybe how to be a bit more mysterious. Maybe he’ll learn to relax and lighten up a bit; have some fun, meet new people.
As far as personality goes, is it better to be upfront and honest with people? Perhaps a little “too” friendly? Or is it better to be reserved? Wait for people to talk to you, hold back and let the others live life aggressively?
Either way I think that you have to find a balance. Hopefully Chad will be that for me.
Matty B.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Bug-A-Boo
It’s interesting what people’s true intentions are. My most recent fling, Mark III (this is the third Mark that I’ve fooled around with in the past few months.) said to me last night,” Everyone’s always contradicting themselves. No one can keep an opinion.” And you know what? I have to agree with him. However, he was just saying that to get me to come over and have sex with him. Seemingly, it worked.
I was sitting at school working on a project, when his little “Connexion IM Window” popped up onto my screen. He started off by complimenting me, commenting my “decked out” profile, being mildly witty and humorous, while slipping in his little sexual innuendos. I immediately saw his game. Just like my Connexion profile says,” The only reason why you’re looking at my page, is either because you want to fuck me, or because you hate me.” Clearly it was the former.
I immediately told him that I was not looking for a hook-up. (It’s this new fad that I’m trying: not being a slut.) It was suggested that maybe I should consider possibly having a relationship. Apparently, my friends think that I should do more talking and learning about the man I‘m interested in, and less fucking. It seems that that’s the route to a healthy relationship; IE: not putting out on the first date.
You see, I don’t have a problem with relationships. In fact, I love being in them. I enjoy the idea of being able to rely on someone for something, even if it’s only accompaniment. The problem isn’t that I don’t want a relationship per say, I just have yet to meet anyone worth spending an extensive amount of time with. I’m having a hard enough time adjusting to the limited amount of time I’m spending with my roommate, Chad., much less nursing a new relationship.
After about an hour of talking, him attempting to seduce me (I found it incredibly amusing), and him beating around the bush, he just came out with it. He was cute and intelligent, and worked teaching theater to under-privileged kids, so this guy had to have a head on his shoulders. I told him to meet me in front of the Art Institute at 11:30pm.
He pulled up in a little red Tercel ( the same car my dear friend Ashley drives/ shares with me) and got out of the car. He was bigger than I was ( a little overweight, pretty hairy, defiantly bear-esque; but I was into it.), beautiful eyes, gorgeous smile, and this rugged masculine voice that gave me a stir in my little red briefs. We first talked about how he DID NOT want a relationship, and was just looking for someone regular to have come over. I wasn’t so sure about him, but we continued. We then talked about art and why I moved out so young (everyone asks), and after about half an hour I was getting tired, and asked to go home with him. He was thrilled.
So far, so good?
I get to his apartment, and the walls are painted all these different colors. I flash back to my grandma living in a downtown Boulder Co-Op. It feels like I should be getting ready to do yoga (considering every position I was in that night, I might as well have). He makes his bed, and we lie down to go to sleep. However, he had other plans.
The first thing that made me think twice was how he didn’t want me to take off my underwear. Not the weirdest fetish, but interesting nonetheless.
The second thing, was his back hair. I ignored it.
The third thing was how he (and I quote) “Am a totally natural guy. I use olive oil as a lubricant.” Wait- what?
I did NOT get fucked that night. Thank you, but oil will break down a condom and render it useless, as well as, I’m not a Brochette. I don’t need to be covered in oil and served to this Italian man.
Finally, I didn’t find it at all satisfying. His penis didn’t live up to the Italian name, and he was very awkward in bed. (although I am thin and look light, I am 6’4”, and NOT. You can’t just flip me any which way… I have long limbs) It was overall 2 ½ stars, and I don’t think that I would be into seeing him again.
The next morning we grabbed a coffee in the Panera Bread, that it’s underneath my apartment building. He immediately told me that he wanted to see me again. I stopped mid-sip. I turned to him and told him that even though he was a nice guy, had beautiful eyes, and was… interesting, he wasn’t my type. (I can’t see myself spending a lot of time with him, and in fact the time I did spend with him was borderline taupe. The overall experience was “all right”.)
The tables had turned. He suddenly wanted to date, and I suddenly did not. I found the entire situation kind of ironic and a little funny, until I checked my Connexion Inbox. Three emails in two hours telling me about how he wanted to see me again and had a great time. Compliments get you far with me, but you can’t persuade someone to be date you. ( I learned that the hard way)
It seems that when all I want is a hook up, all I get is a phone full of text messages and an inbox full of emails; while whenever I want to pursue dating someone, all I get is either no response, or a polite brush off (and then there are the emotionally unstable one’s that we won’t even get into).
So the question is:
Do I lower my standards and start dating someone that I don’t see/ want to have feelings for and just date, for the sake of dating? Or do I hold out for some interesting, beautiful person that may or may not exist?
Matty B.
It’s interesting what people’s true intentions are. My most recent fling, Mark III (this is the third Mark that I’ve fooled around with in the past few months.) said to me last night,” Everyone’s always contradicting themselves. No one can keep an opinion.” And you know what? I have to agree with him. However, he was just saying that to get me to come over and have sex with him. Seemingly, it worked.
I was sitting at school working on a project, when his little “Connexion IM Window” popped up onto my screen. He started off by complimenting me, commenting my “decked out” profile, being mildly witty and humorous, while slipping in his little sexual innuendos. I immediately saw his game. Just like my Connexion profile says,” The only reason why you’re looking at my page, is either because you want to fuck me, or because you hate me.” Clearly it was the former.
I immediately told him that I was not looking for a hook-up. (It’s this new fad that I’m trying: not being a slut.) It was suggested that maybe I should consider possibly having a relationship. Apparently, my friends think that I should do more talking and learning about the man I‘m interested in, and less fucking. It seems that that’s the route to a healthy relationship; IE: not putting out on the first date.
You see, I don’t have a problem with relationships. In fact, I love being in them. I enjoy the idea of being able to rely on someone for something, even if it’s only accompaniment. The problem isn’t that I don’t want a relationship per say, I just have yet to meet anyone worth spending an extensive amount of time with. I’m having a hard enough time adjusting to the limited amount of time I’m spending with my roommate, Chad., much less nursing a new relationship.
After about an hour of talking, him attempting to seduce me (I found it incredibly amusing), and him beating around the bush, he just came out with it. He was cute and intelligent, and worked teaching theater to under-privileged kids, so this guy had to have a head on his shoulders. I told him to meet me in front of the Art Institute at 11:30pm.
He pulled up in a little red Tercel ( the same car my dear friend Ashley drives/ shares with me) and got out of the car. He was bigger than I was ( a little overweight, pretty hairy, defiantly bear-esque; but I was into it.), beautiful eyes, gorgeous smile, and this rugged masculine voice that gave me a stir in my little red briefs. We first talked about how he DID NOT want a relationship, and was just looking for someone regular to have come over. I wasn’t so sure about him, but we continued. We then talked about art and why I moved out so young (everyone asks), and after about half an hour I was getting tired, and asked to go home with him. He was thrilled.
So far, so good?
I get to his apartment, and the walls are painted all these different colors. I flash back to my grandma living in a downtown Boulder Co-Op. It feels like I should be getting ready to do yoga (considering every position I was in that night, I might as well have). He makes his bed, and we lie down to go to sleep. However, he had other plans.
The first thing that made me think twice was how he didn’t want me to take off my underwear. Not the weirdest fetish, but interesting nonetheless.
The second thing, was his back hair. I ignored it.
The third thing was how he (and I quote) “Am a totally natural guy. I use olive oil as a lubricant.” Wait- what?
I did NOT get fucked that night. Thank you, but oil will break down a condom and render it useless, as well as, I’m not a Brochette. I don’t need to be covered in oil and served to this Italian man.
Finally, I didn’t find it at all satisfying. His penis didn’t live up to the Italian name, and he was very awkward in bed. (although I am thin and look light, I am 6’4”, and NOT. You can’t just flip me any which way… I have long limbs) It was overall 2 ½ stars, and I don’t think that I would be into seeing him again.
The next morning we grabbed a coffee in the Panera Bread, that it’s underneath my apartment building. He immediately told me that he wanted to see me again. I stopped mid-sip. I turned to him and told him that even though he was a nice guy, had beautiful eyes, and was… interesting, he wasn’t my type. (I can’t see myself spending a lot of time with him, and in fact the time I did spend with him was borderline taupe. The overall experience was “all right”.)
The tables had turned. He suddenly wanted to date, and I suddenly did not. I found the entire situation kind of ironic and a little funny, until I checked my Connexion Inbox. Three emails in two hours telling me about how he wanted to see me again and had a great time. Compliments get you far with me, but you can’t persuade someone to be date you. ( I learned that the hard way)
It seems that when all I want is a hook up, all I get is a phone full of text messages and an inbox full of emails; while whenever I want to pursue dating someone, all I get is either no response, or a polite brush off (and then there are the emotionally unstable one’s that we won’t even get into).
So the question is:
Do I lower my standards and start dating someone that I don’t see/ want to have feelings for and just date, for the sake of dating? Or do I hold out for some interesting, beautiful person that may or may not exist?
Matty B.
Monday, June 04, 2007
I just wrote another blog, containing how childish and what an asshole David is.
To read it, click HERE
But because we're not friends anymore David, You can't read it.
♥
Matty B.
To read it, click HERE
But because we're not friends anymore David, You can't read it.
♥
Matty B.
You Are Who You Sleep With
The scene was perfect. As I walked into the very popular “Hamburger Mary’s” (An Uptown predominately gay restaurant) I immediately saw a dozen or so people that I knew. Greetings were exchanged; Hugs and kisses galore. The music switched, and Paris Hilton started singing about how she could what your girlfriend does, so much better.
Then I run into David. He’s sitting with his small boyfriend, Clayton. Apparently they were having drinks at Mary’s after going to Sushi. Eric called David’s new boy a tart. [Good use of the word, Eric!] There were comments about his hair and scruffy face.
What really got to me, though, was how impossibly rude his little man was. I was looking very good (He was not). I had a big beautiful white smile on my face (he was not). I was polite, and even made a joke (again, he was not). Being in this little, sad person’s presence was just horrifying. Ashley turned to me and made a gesture for the door.
I immediately made an excuse to leave, and I did (but not before making my rounds saying goodbye, and exiting with grace).
As I walked down the street towards my car, I couldn’t help but having this horrible bitter taste in my mouth. I immediately shrugged it off, and started laughing at the so-called “gorgeous guy”. Hey, If he was allowed to be mean, then so was I.
It’s funny when you run into old fucks, and past flings. Especially when you are so well put together. You see them now, and you have an immeasurable wave of disappointment come over you. Suddenly you’re thinking: “What on earth made me think that someone like THAT would be a good idea?” I was talking to Ashley, and she kept asking me what even attracted me to him. Like usual, she said that I was too pretty for the guy that I was seeing.
It’s really hard to find someone that is completely equal to you. I know that whenever I go “Husband Hunting” on the Gaytabase, I’m looking for someone who is as attractive, mature, and pulled together as I am (No luck so far). Because it is VERY true, you are who you date.
I know that when I was dating Jeremy (who was a total and complete asshole) I was a total and complete asshole. When I barely dated David (who was a total and complete mess) I was a total and complete mess. When I dated JJ ( who was a self righteous stingy fucker) I was a righteous stingy fucker.
It’s interesting how different relationships bring out different things in you. I know that when I was dating Brady, I brought out a happiness and a fun side to him, and he did; me. Basically, when you start a new relationship, you’re two blank canvasses. What color you decide to pain each other, is up to you.
Matty B.
The scene was perfect. As I walked into the very popular “Hamburger Mary’s” (An Uptown predominately gay restaurant) I immediately saw a dozen or so people that I knew. Greetings were exchanged; Hugs and kisses galore. The music switched, and Paris Hilton started singing about how she could what your girlfriend does, so much better.
Then I run into David. He’s sitting with his small boyfriend, Clayton. Apparently they were having drinks at Mary’s after going to Sushi. Eric called David’s new boy a tart. [Good use of the word, Eric!] There were comments about his hair and scruffy face.
What really got to me, though, was how impossibly rude his little man was. I was looking very good (He was not). I had a big beautiful white smile on my face (he was not). I was polite, and even made a joke (again, he was not). Being in this little, sad person’s presence was just horrifying. Ashley turned to me and made a gesture for the door.
I immediately made an excuse to leave, and I did (but not before making my rounds saying goodbye, and exiting with grace).
As I walked down the street towards my car, I couldn’t help but having this horrible bitter taste in my mouth. I immediately shrugged it off, and started laughing at the so-called “gorgeous guy”. Hey, If he was allowed to be mean, then so was I.
It’s funny when you run into old fucks, and past flings. Especially when you are so well put together. You see them now, and you have an immeasurable wave of disappointment come over you. Suddenly you’re thinking: “What on earth made me think that someone like THAT would be a good idea?” I was talking to Ashley, and she kept asking me what even attracted me to him. Like usual, she said that I was too pretty for the guy that I was seeing.
It’s really hard to find someone that is completely equal to you. I know that whenever I go “Husband Hunting” on the Gaytabase, I’m looking for someone who is as attractive, mature, and pulled together as I am (No luck so far). Because it is VERY true, you are who you date.
I know that when I was dating Jeremy (who was a total and complete asshole) I was a total and complete asshole. When I barely dated David (who was a total and complete mess) I was a total and complete mess. When I dated JJ ( who was a self righteous stingy fucker) I was a righteous stingy fucker.
It’s interesting how different relationships bring out different things in you. I know that when I was dating Brady, I brought out a happiness and a fun side to him, and he did; me. Basically, when you start a new relationship, you’re two blank canvasses. What color you decide to pain each other, is up to you.
Matty B.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
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”.
Matty B.
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:
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”.
Matty B.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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.
“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.
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.
Matty B.
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.
Matty B.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
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?
Matty B.
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?
Matty B.
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