Don’t You Remember? You Told Me You Loved Me, Baby.
Two hours at the studio. Niara drilled our Tech N9ne and Traxamillion pieces. At the company I dance for, I’m on two separate troups: Senior Hip-Hop, and Promotions. We’ve been hammering out our promotions piece for weeks, preparing for tomorrow’s promo at Boulder High School. I’m not nervous, even though I was put in the piece last minute, disregarding the fact that I didn’t know much of the choreography. I learned it of course, however I believe a failure to plan is a plan for failure. I’ll just have to throw it down, and work it out.
My insurance company gave me a rental car while Rhoda, was in the shop. It’s a 2008 Nissan Sentra. Beautiful car, but it doesn’t have an iPod hook up like my trusty Jeep does. I was forced into the depths of my bedroom to dig out old mix CD’s, so I wasn’t forced to listen to the… *cough* …radio.
After dusting off an old CD case, I managed to find some semi-decent mixes from the past. My first (and favorite) roommate Bri and I, used to always make mixes for each other, and the ones that we cared about. When I was dating Brady, I would make them for him every month, on our “anniversary”.
At the first stop light home from leaving the studio, I opened my CD case to find something new to listen to. In the very back, there was a slip of folded paper reading “A Mixed Tape For You”. As I flipped that last page, I felt that there was a CD inside. Curious, I pulled it out, and slipped it in the stereo.
It was the first mix anyone had ever made for me. I remember Brady giving it to me at school, on our “second anniversary”. (I use quotes, because you can’t really call it an anniversary. Young love likes to mark the periods of their relationship. We’ve all been through it.) It was a mix of alternative rock songs, that he felt applied to us. Well, that’s what I gathered, by listening to the lyrics of each song.
As I sped up Arapahoe, one of the lyrics to the song said,” How can you sleep, knowing that I love you so? How can you sleep without me next to you?” I felt a hint of tears well in my eyes, for a reason otherwise expected. Instead of crying over “lost” love, I felt the most overwhelming sensation of joy, just remembering how it felt to have someone love you so deeply. It was almost as if I was lying in my bed, having my hair stroked as I fell asleep, after a terrible night at my junior prom.
As the songs continued, Sonic Youth sang,” Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby-” “…Loneliness is such a sad affair, I can’t wait to see you again.” All I could do is smile to myself because it felt so refreshing to be reminded, if only for a brief few moments, what it felt like to have someone care for you so whole heartedly. Feeling a connection with another human being like that, having such a genuine love for someone other than yourself, is beautiful. No matter how short lived it may be.
Don’t read into it, like I’m all upset about an ex boyfriend. It's not like that one bit. I’m not going to be some depressed gay guy, crying about why he’s single. I was just taken aback for a moment, and had to appreciate the emotional flashback. If you’ve never felt that way about someone, than you won’t be able to relate to this at all. However, for the few who do, you know it’s moments like those, that make the world that much more beautiful, and life that much more worth it.
It was a great way to end my evening.
Matty B.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
"Freakshow [Freak] Freakshow, We Can Give 'Em A-"
Why anyone would put on the façade that they were straight, is beyond me. Being straight is boring. Straight men are all the same. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to have sex with them. You have a long-term relationship with 100 men, who all think and look the same. It’s the perfect relationship. Who would want to pretend that they were boring, anyways? Gay men have something naturally, that the rest of the world has to earn: a ferocity.
Lets be honest here. A woman has to act, look, dress, and be the part. Gay men watch “To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything,” throw on an otherwise tacky boa, and suddenly Tyra Banks screams about how fierce they are. I personally think that it takes a certain finesse to be fierce. You have to dedicate yourself to exuding ferocity. It’s no part-time job. The minute you put yourself out there, people are going to rag on you, talk shit, and basically try to tear you down the best they can: your friends, your foes, and everyone in between. Prepare for the storm, because it can get cold. However, it also can result in a shower of compliments, and rainstorm of men. It’s a love/hate situation.
I was at Club Vinyl recently with my favorite gay Jeff, and when I got home, this sorry excuse of a homosexual named “Bailey Dolce” posted a bulletin on myspace, explaining how he saw me at the club, trash talked me, and said that I should go home and wash my face. In reality, I had never even met this child, nor did he come up to me. My friends think he was jealous of my flawless complexion, and felt he needed to distract from his poor use of Cover Girl foundation, by dissing on my flawless M.A.C. face.
On the other hand, Denver Underground took my photo (more than a few times), I became friends with the door girl Kellie (who upon meeting Jeff and I, immediately put us on the VIP List), met a really cool group of guys and girls, and danced the night away to a killer DJ, with my favorite boy.
You have to learn to take the good with the bad. As Samantha (Kim Cattrall) says on ‘Sex and the City’, “ They way to measure the quality of your life, is at the end of the day when you look in the mirror, are you smiling or frowning?”
After I washed my face, pulled my hair back, and settled into bed, I whispered to Jeff goodnight. He whispered goodnight back, I hugged him, and turned away.
I was smiling.
It takes a certain kind of person to be able to block out the bad, and focus on the good. Frankly, my world can come crashing down, but if I can manage an honest smile at the end of the day, I know everything will be okay. However, if I can’t manage that smile, I can at least have a flawless face to camouflage it.
Matty B.
Why anyone would put on the façade that they were straight, is beyond me. Being straight is boring. Straight men are all the same. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to have sex with them. You have a long-term relationship with 100 men, who all think and look the same. It’s the perfect relationship. Who would want to pretend that they were boring, anyways? Gay men have something naturally, that the rest of the world has to earn: a ferocity.
Lets be honest here. A woman has to act, look, dress, and be the part. Gay men watch “To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything,” throw on an otherwise tacky boa, and suddenly Tyra Banks screams about how fierce they are. I personally think that it takes a certain finesse to be fierce. You have to dedicate yourself to exuding ferocity. It’s no part-time job. The minute you put yourself out there, people are going to rag on you, talk shit, and basically try to tear you down the best they can: your friends, your foes, and everyone in between. Prepare for the storm, because it can get cold. However, it also can result in a shower of compliments, and rainstorm of men. It’s a love/hate situation.
I was at Club Vinyl recently with my favorite gay Jeff, and when I got home, this sorry excuse of a homosexual named “Bailey Dolce” posted a bulletin on myspace, explaining how he saw me at the club, trash talked me, and said that I should go home and wash my face. In reality, I had never even met this child, nor did he come up to me. My friends think he was jealous of my flawless complexion, and felt he needed to distract from his poor use of Cover Girl foundation, by dissing on my flawless M.A.C. face.
On the other hand, Denver Underground took my photo (more than a few times), I became friends with the door girl Kellie (who upon meeting Jeff and I, immediately put us on the VIP List), met a really cool group of guys and girls, and danced the night away to a killer DJ, with my favorite boy.
You have to learn to take the good with the bad. As Samantha (Kim Cattrall) says on ‘Sex and the City’, “ They way to measure the quality of your life, is at the end of the day when you look in the mirror, are you smiling or frowning?”
After I washed my face, pulled my hair back, and settled into bed, I whispered to Jeff goodnight. He whispered goodnight back, I hugged him, and turned away.
I was smiling.
It takes a certain kind of person to be able to block out the bad, and focus on the good. Frankly, my world can come crashing down, but if I can manage an honest smile at the end of the day, I know everything will be okay. However, if I can’t manage that smile, I can at least have a flawless face to camouflage it.
Matty B.
Chapter Two: Love. Learn. Laugh.
It has been a very long, cold, and dreary winter. The sky was clouded with gray misery, that reflected on the faces of the citizens, living below. I spent the long cold months watching independent films, listening to Kimya Dawson, and searching for something new.
My entire life, I have always had some sort of goal. When I was a child, it was to get away from my delusional mother. At fifteen, I packed a duffle bag, and left with no regret. When I was in high school, it was to get into a college, and move to Denver. At seventeen, I started attending the Art Institute of Colorado, and moved downtown. A few months after I turned 18, my college started fucking with me, making me jump through hoops to stay a student there. My roommate and I had a very rocky relationship. I woke up one morning, quit my job, moved out, and dropped out of college.
Five months later, I’m living with my best and oldest friend Vyckee, (who I call mom, even though she isn’t) am unemployed, and spending three hours a day, four days a week, dancing for an Independent Dance Company in Boulder. I’ve completely left my manic life behind, and went back to my roots: the studio.
I spent my childhood escaping my life by dancing for various companies around the Denver Metro area. From the age of 4, I was taking ballet classes from Frau Schmitt three days a week. I don’t know what it is, but it brings takes me home. The long hours, the dieting, the muscles so sore, you wake up unable to walk; it frees my mind.
I’ve spent the past few months trying to focus on what I want out of my life. Do I want to pursue a college degree? If so, where do I want to go? I’ve already found that an alternative institution wasn’t the right fit for me. Would I even be able to get into a public university such as CU? Would I live in the dorms? Would I have the ability to work, and go to school? What would I do about my friends? Would I get to see them? Who would I live with? How would I pay for it? What the fuck am I doing with my life?!
Suddenly my world is spinning so fast, I don’t know which way is up. I’m completely overwhelmed, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. I slip on a pair of converse, grab my duffle bag, get in my Jeep, and fly down Arapahoe, parking illegally in front of the studio. I get out, fly through the front door, drop my bag, plug my iPod into the sound system, and let go.
Three hours later, I get back into my Jeep, turn on some Freezepop, and drive home, re-centered.
I’m not quite sure exactly what my life’s plans are. However, I feel that that adds to my charm. Not quite sure what I’m doing, but there is a few things in life that bring me back down.
I figure as long as I don’t take anything (or anyone) too seriously, continue to surround myself with people that I enjoy being with, as I walk my path, it will begin to form, and show it’s self.
Well, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
Matty B.
It has been a very long, cold, and dreary winter. The sky was clouded with gray misery, that reflected on the faces of the citizens, living below. I spent the long cold months watching independent films, listening to Kimya Dawson, and searching for something new.
My entire life, I have always had some sort of goal. When I was a child, it was to get away from my delusional mother. At fifteen, I packed a duffle bag, and left with no regret. When I was in high school, it was to get into a college, and move to Denver. At seventeen, I started attending the Art Institute of Colorado, and moved downtown. A few months after I turned 18, my college started fucking with me, making me jump through hoops to stay a student there. My roommate and I had a very rocky relationship. I woke up one morning, quit my job, moved out, and dropped out of college.
Five months later, I’m living with my best and oldest friend Vyckee, (who I call mom, even though she isn’t) am unemployed, and spending three hours a day, four days a week, dancing for an Independent Dance Company in Boulder. I’ve completely left my manic life behind, and went back to my roots: the studio.
I spent my childhood escaping my life by dancing for various companies around the Denver Metro area. From the age of 4, I was taking ballet classes from Frau Schmitt three days a week. I don’t know what it is, but it brings takes me home. The long hours, the dieting, the muscles so sore, you wake up unable to walk; it frees my mind.
I’ve spent the past few months trying to focus on what I want out of my life. Do I want to pursue a college degree? If so, where do I want to go? I’ve already found that an alternative institution wasn’t the right fit for me. Would I even be able to get into a public university such as CU? Would I live in the dorms? Would I have the ability to work, and go to school? What would I do about my friends? Would I get to see them? Who would I live with? How would I pay for it? What the fuck am I doing with my life?!
Suddenly my world is spinning so fast, I don’t know which way is up. I’m completely overwhelmed, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. I slip on a pair of converse, grab my duffle bag, get in my Jeep, and fly down Arapahoe, parking illegally in front of the studio. I get out, fly through the front door, drop my bag, plug my iPod into the sound system, and let go.
Three hours later, I get back into my Jeep, turn on some Freezepop, and drive home, re-centered.
I’m not quite sure exactly what my life’s plans are. However, I feel that that adds to my charm. Not quite sure what I’m doing, but there is a few things in life that bring me back down.
I figure as long as I don’t take anything (or anyone) too seriously, continue to surround myself with people that I enjoy being with, as I walk my path, it will begin to form, and show it’s self.
Well, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
Matty B.
Shed Some Light, Shed Some Light On Me
It has been quite sometime since the last time I’ve posted something I’ve written. Between the animosity shown towards the way I write my blog, and the way I approach my life, I lost interest in sharing my intimate experiences with the very blunt public. Although I’ve found other sources of self expression, I haven’t ceased to write. I just haven’t posted anything.
However, the events of the past few weeks have been (as I quote my friends),” totally blog worthy.”
It seems I am back from my hiatus. Tune in, and feel free to comment.
XO
Matty B.
It has been quite sometime since the last time I’ve posted something I’ve written. Between the animosity shown towards the way I write my blog, and the way I approach my life, I lost interest in sharing my intimate experiences with the very blunt public. Although I’ve found other sources of self expression, I haven’t ceased to write. I just haven’t posted anything.
However, the events of the past few weeks have been (as I quote my friends),” totally blog worthy.”
It seems I am back from my hiatus. Tune in, and feel free to comment.
XO
Matty B.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Memiors of a GAYsha
Five Weeks. Everytime I walked through the crystal clear double doors and into the ivory showroom, my heart rate would slowly increase. My pupils would dialate, adjusting to the bright glow of each counter, and i could feel the perspiration collect on my perfectly manicured brow.
I'll be the first to admit: I have had many jobs. I've worked every position you can think of. From mopping up vomit, to serving short stacks at the International House of Pancakes. I've served beer at Invesco Field, and worked as an Office Manager for the Largest Real Estate company, in the Denver Metro area.
Although some friends think of me unsteady or erratic, when it comes to working. Although i can understand why one would think that, what they don't know, are my views on work. When i walk down the street, more often than not i see angry people in suits, yelling about deadlines on their cell phones. People live these grey lives trapped in a 9-5 job, that can be done in their sleep. I am not like that.
I believe in trying to find that perfect fit. Something that fits my personality, exactly. First, I need a job with a firm managment spine. I've been at places where the managment had been lackluster, which led to many issues involving lack of leadership, and conflic tbetween co-workers. Second, I need to find a position where i can be myself. Tattoos, Piercings, Mohawk, Extensions, Make Up, the works. I need to be able to espress myself. Finally, i need a position where i can be creative. Either i'm dancing, talking, drawing, painting, designing layouts, color theory, writing, visual merchandising. If i get to use my brain, then i'll be succesfull.
I was incredibly intimidated. I had interviewed with three other people, already. As i blended, i could feel a drop of perspiration glide down my face, across my cheek. Confidance slipping, doubt filled my mind. I tried to focus. I smiled; uneasy. I had to do well. This was my dream job.
Two weeks later, i descended down the escalator. The cool breeze gently grazed my hair, playfully tossing it. As i walked to the counter, my wide grin was met by clapping and hugs from my new team. Loretta started listing things that i should know, letting me know the very strict ground rules. A firm backbone; just what i needed. Rose walked over to me and gave me a big hug. Wonderful co-workers; just what I wanted. As she secured my new necklace in place, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. My MAC pendant rested gently on my chest, bringing to life a sense of pride; something i had never felt before about a new position.
Seeing the cosmetics department smiling and welcoming me, almost brought a tear to my eye. I knew it. This is where i am supposed to be. This is home. I have to do well. I will learn everything i can. And I know I can succeed.
Five Weeks. Everytime I walked through the crystal clear double doors and into the ivory showroom, my heart rate would slowly increase. My pupils would dialate, adjusting to the bright glow of each counter, and i could feel the perspiration collect on my perfectly manicured brow.
I'll be the first to admit: I have had many jobs. I've worked every position you can think of. From mopping up vomit, to serving short stacks at the International House of Pancakes. I've served beer at Invesco Field, and worked as an Office Manager for the Largest Real Estate company, in the Denver Metro area.
Although some friends think of me unsteady or erratic, when it comes to working. Although i can understand why one would think that, what they don't know, are my views on work. When i walk down the street, more often than not i see angry people in suits, yelling about deadlines on their cell phones. People live these grey lives trapped in a 9-5 job, that can be done in their sleep. I am not like that.
I believe in trying to find that perfect fit. Something that fits my personality, exactly. First, I need a job with a firm managment spine. I've been at places where the managment had been lackluster, which led to many issues involving lack of leadership, and conflic tbetween co-workers. Second, I need to find a position where i can be myself. Tattoos, Piercings, Mohawk, Extensions, Make Up, the works. I need to be able to espress myself. Finally, i need a position where i can be creative. Either i'm dancing, talking, drawing, painting, designing layouts, color theory, writing, visual merchandising. If i get to use my brain, then i'll be succesfull.
I was incredibly intimidated. I had interviewed with three other people, already. As i blended, i could feel a drop of perspiration glide down my face, across my cheek. Confidance slipping, doubt filled my mind. I tried to focus. I smiled; uneasy. I had to do well. This was my dream job.
Two weeks later, i descended down the escalator. The cool breeze gently grazed my hair, playfully tossing it. As i walked to the counter, my wide grin was met by clapping and hugs from my new team. Loretta started listing things that i should know, letting me know the very strict ground rules. A firm backbone; just what i needed. Rose walked over to me and gave me a big hug. Wonderful co-workers; just what I wanted. As she secured my new necklace in place, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. My MAC pendant rested gently on my chest, bringing to life a sense of pride; something i had never felt before about a new position.
Seeing the cosmetics department smiling and welcoming me, almost brought a tear to my eye. I knew it. This is where i am supposed to be. This is home. I have to do well. I will learn everything i can. And I know I can succeed.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
You Want a Piece of Me?
The stench of liquor and vomit plagued his breath, like a toxin. He stumbled a bit; his threats as weak as his stomach for liquor. He immediately realized the mistake he made, when my response wasn't what he had expected.
"You fat fucking bitch! What the fuck Matty? You're such a looser! Everyone hates you, I hope you know."
I've grown up a sissy my entire life. People made fun of me; targeting my "gayness" and my weight. I pretty much grew up a social outcast, until i moved out of my parent's house at 15. Even then, when people picked fights with me, i was always the smaller, slower one; I cowered at the the mere threat of being hit.
But not anymore.
I turned to face the little man, that most recently used to call himself my roommate; my friend. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs in his face, leaned down to his level of 5'10", and simply said," Touch me. Touch me, and you will be gone."
The look on his face was priceless. It turned a delicious shade of purple. He started yelling about how fat I was, and what a waste of life I am. The satisfaction of knowing that i could have him thrown out of Tracks at ay given moment was just perfect. He knew it too. The way he was going on, and picking a fight with me for no reason, showed how desperate he was for attention.
I turned to a mutual friend of ours, Greg, and told him to get this little chihuahua out of my face, or i'd have him removed. Greg knew the seriousness of the situation, and he pulled the wasted Chad away from me, and thanked me for not throwing him out.
That thursday was the perfect night. I met a few guys, got to see a few friends, and finally had the upper hand on someone who had treated me so poorly in the past. However, as I was driving home and listening to my new favorite Brittany Spears song," You Want a Piece of Me," i couldn't get rid of the bittersweet taste from my mouth. Was it the aftertaste of the Red Bull i was slamming? Or was it something else?
Exactly a year ago, I was 45 pounds lighter than I am today. I was 6'4", and 155 pounds. You could literally see my chest bones and ribs. Many of my friends and family expressed alarm in my small waistline, and thin arms.
Today, it's been rumored that I'm known as the "big lovable sweetheart of Tracks." All of the other floor staff, are slim, and cut. Strong, tight bodies, and arms like rock. I however, do not fit that body type. And I'm okay with that. It seems though, that that makes me a fat ass, or looser.
That's just it: nothing is ever good enough for other people. Some people are going to love you for one thing, and other people are going to love you for another. The point being, you can't please everyone. If you spend your life worrying what other people are going to say and think about you, you're going to live a long life of worry and doubt... and that's not a lifestyle that i'm going to live.
If finding a comfortable in between makes me a cow and a looser, then so be it. All i know is that i'm not going to be obsessing over my weight, and shoving my finger down my throat to get that temporary comfort, like Chad. I feel good about myself and my body, and i'm not two pounds.
So let them say what they will. They can project their insecurities onto people who truly are free from such typical one's. It just shows the true colors of their character. Just remember that: you're not fooling anybody.
Matty B.
The stench of liquor and vomit plagued his breath, like a toxin. He stumbled a bit; his threats as weak as his stomach for liquor. He immediately realized the mistake he made, when my response wasn't what he had expected.
"You fat fucking bitch! What the fuck Matty? You're such a looser! Everyone hates you, I hope you know."
I've grown up a sissy my entire life. People made fun of me; targeting my "gayness" and my weight. I pretty much grew up a social outcast, until i moved out of my parent's house at 15. Even then, when people picked fights with me, i was always the smaller, slower one; I cowered at the the mere threat of being hit.
But not anymore.
I turned to face the little man, that most recently used to call himself my roommate; my friend. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs in his face, leaned down to his level of 5'10", and simply said," Touch me. Touch me, and you will be gone."
The look on his face was priceless. It turned a delicious shade of purple. He started yelling about how fat I was, and what a waste of life I am. The satisfaction of knowing that i could have him thrown out of Tracks at ay given moment was just perfect. He knew it too. The way he was going on, and picking a fight with me for no reason, showed how desperate he was for attention.
I turned to a mutual friend of ours, Greg, and told him to get this little chihuahua out of my face, or i'd have him removed. Greg knew the seriousness of the situation, and he pulled the wasted Chad away from me, and thanked me for not throwing him out.
That thursday was the perfect night. I met a few guys, got to see a few friends, and finally had the upper hand on someone who had treated me so poorly in the past. However, as I was driving home and listening to my new favorite Brittany Spears song," You Want a Piece of Me," i couldn't get rid of the bittersweet taste from my mouth. Was it the aftertaste of the Red Bull i was slamming? Or was it something else?
Exactly a year ago, I was 45 pounds lighter than I am today. I was 6'4", and 155 pounds. You could literally see my chest bones and ribs. Many of my friends and family expressed alarm in my small waistline, and thin arms.
Today, it's been rumored that I'm known as the "big lovable sweetheart of Tracks." All of the other floor staff, are slim, and cut. Strong, tight bodies, and arms like rock. I however, do not fit that body type. And I'm okay with that. It seems though, that that makes me a fat ass, or looser.
That's just it: nothing is ever good enough for other people. Some people are going to love you for one thing, and other people are going to love you for another. The point being, you can't please everyone. If you spend your life worrying what other people are going to say and think about you, you're going to live a long life of worry and doubt... and that's not a lifestyle that i'm going to live.
If finding a comfortable in between makes me a cow and a looser, then so be it. All i know is that i'm not going to be obsessing over my weight, and shoving my finger down my throat to get that temporary comfort, like Chad. I feel good about myself and my body, and i'm not two pounds.
So let them say what they will. They can project their insecurities onto people who truly are free from such typical one's. It just shows the true colors of their character. Just remember that: you're not fooling anybody.
Matty B.
Monday, October 01, 2007
I Am Revolution
I’ve been talking big for years. Growing up, I’d tell my mother,” I’m going places, momma. Just you wait and see. I’m going to be big.”
My first step was to get out of what I like to call, the “wet social rectum of Colorado” that is Longmont. My second step was to move in with stable friends, and maintain a constant financial constant. My third step was to climb the dance scene, and become one of Phunk-E-Elements most notorious go-go dancers. My fourth step was to move to the big city: Denver. My fifth step was to get clean, and leave a life of drugs behind. My sixth step was to move to a nicer apartment, and get a respectable job, that I could be proud of. My seventh step was to get into college. My eighth step was to drop out of college, and find one that better suited my needs. My ninth step…
My next step is undetermined. I’ve been thinking of my next move for months, now. I am just so incredibly indecisive. I lie in my bed at night, and my mind just screams, New York! Miami! San Francisco! Seattle! When in reality, I am too terrified to even think about the consequences of moving to such a large city, without any friends, any connections, anyone at all.
On the other hand, my life has been a horrible shade of taupe. How amazing would an adventure be, right about now? I’ve been looking through old blog entries, and really taking time to myself to figure out what’s going on with my life. After months of being blown off by my “friends”, and never really having anyone that I could constantly trust and confide in, I’ve found that I’m in the perfect position to start a new adventure; to start a personal revolution. I don’t have any real ties to living in Denver, or any personal connections keeping me here. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it kind of feels like a natural step for me.
I had a really hard time when I first moved here. However, through perseverance and constant belief in myself, I created a livable life that I was happy with. Was, being the key word. I think that now, I’m ready for the next step. There has to be more out there, than this daily frustration. As Elle Woods says,” If the fabric doesn’t work with you, then don’t work with the fabric!” So, when you’ve done your best and it just doesn’t work, then move on, and try life somewhere else.
Eric said that I would never leave. He said that I would never leave Denver, for a bigger city, and that I would end up living in Colorado.
Well for some of us, mediocrity doesn’t suffice. He almost made me feel bad for wanting bigger and better things. Hey, if he wants to live the same life of, waking up, Triple Iced Venti Vanilla Latte, driving to Hamburger Mary’s, working, stopping by a friend’s house, doing some drugs, driving home, creeping through the door so that he won’t wake up his mother, and slinking into bed, so be it. Who am I to inflict my personal goals on others? All I know is that I am destined for more. I will not live a lackluster life of tedious, wearisome, monotony. I’m better than that.
I’m not saying that I won’t come back. I don’t even know if I’m leaving. What I do know, is that I am going to make some big changes. In fact, I’ve already started.
Matty B.
I’ve been talking big for years. Growing up, I’d tell my mother,” I’m going places, momma. Just you wait and see. I’m going to be big.”
My first step was to get out of what I like to call, the “wet social rectum of Colorado” that is Longmont. My second step was to move in with stable friends, and maintain a constant financial constant. My third step was to climb the dance scene, and become one of Phunk-E-Elements most notorious go-go dancers. My fourth step was to move to the big city: Denver. My fifth step was to get clean, and leave a life of drugs behind. My sixth step was to move to a nicer apartment, and get a respectable job, that I could be proud of. My seventh step was to get into college. My eighth step was to drop out of college, and find one that better suited my needs. My ninth step…
My next step is undetermined. I’ve been thinking of my next move for months, now. I am just so incredibly indecisive. I lie in my bed at night, and my mind just screams, New York! Miami! San Francisco! Seattle! When in reality, I am too terrified to even think about the consequences of moving to such a large city, without any friends, any connections, anyone at all.
On the other hand, my life has been a horrible shade of taupe. How amazing would an adventure be, right about now? I’ve been looking through old blog entries, and really taking time to myself to figure out what’s going on with my life. After months of being blown off by my “friends”, and never really having anyone that I could constantly trust and confide in, I’ve found that I’m in the perfect position to start a new adventure; to start a personal revolution. I don’t have any real ties to living in Denver, or any personal connections keeping me here. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it kind of feels like a natural step for me.
I had a really hard time when I first moved here. However, through perseverance and constant belief in myself, I created a livable life that I was happy with. Was, being the key word. I think that now, I’m ready for the next step. There has to be more out there, than this daily frustration. As Elle Woods says,” If the fabric doesn’t work with you, then don’t work with the fabric!” So, when you’ve done your best and it just doesn’t work, then move on, and try life somewhere else.
Eric said that I would never leave. He said that I would never leave Denver, for a bigger city, and that I would end up living in Colorado.
Well for some of us, mediocrity doesn’t suffice. He almost made me feel bad for wanting bigger and better things. Hey, if he wants to live the same life of, waking up, Triple Iced Venti Vanilla Latte, driving to Hamburger Mary’s, working, stopping by a friend’s house, doing some drugs, driving home, creeping through the door so that he won’t wake up his mother, and slinking into bed, so be it. Who am I to inflict my personal goals on others? All I know is that I am destined for more. I will not live a lackluster life of tedious, wearisome, monotony. I’m better than that.
I’m not saying that I won’t come back. I don’t even know if I’m leaving. What I do know, is that I am going to make some big changes. In fact, I’ve already started.
Matty B.
Bottom on Top?
Not days before my roommate and I decided that I was to move out at the end of the month, I finally unpacked my last few boxes: one of which containing my old computer, that I haven’t used in almost a year.
I sat there for hours, looking at old pictures of past friends; at my past life. As I scanned the folders full of pictures of me and my “best friends” dancing at raves, drinking at BBQ’s, swimming during the summer, and the legendary “morning after breakfast’s” at Denny’s (post party, concert or rave), I couldn’t help but to feel this incredible pit in my stomach.
Dilated pupils, lock jaw, sweaty, blurry faces, grinned back at me from the brightly lit screen. I remember looking through music magazines when I was younger, seeing all these fabulous people dancing with the exact same expressions... Except the feeling that occurred was very different form the one that I have now.
At the age of 13, I remember ripping pictures of these fabulous people out of Happy Magazine and Flaunt. It filled me with and endless amount of optimism, because I would lie there listening to the electro-pop album that came with the magazine, picturing crowds of people scream my name, as I danced my little heart out.
Living in a sheltered suburb of Colorado can definitely be deter you from a dream of fame. It was only a matter of time, before I found myself re-applying on facial glitter, and blotting the beads of sweat from my face with a stage hand’s t-shirt.
I had a little flash from the past last Thursday when I was working the floor at TRACKS. Two adorable kids ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and stared up at me wide-eyed.
“Are you beautiful?” The thin, attractive twink asked me.
“Excuse me?”
“What he means is, are you Matty B.eautiful?” Screeched the thrilled fag-hag companion.
I stopped and stared at them for a beat.
“I suppose I am now, aren’t I?” I hesitated.
The two exchanged glances, immediately screamed at the top of their lungs, and tackled me.
A bit confused, I stood up, adjusted myself and grinned at them; confused.
“You are a LEGEND! I can’t believe you work here! Are you dancing tonight?! When’s your next show? Are you still dancing with Bliss? Where have you been? None of us have seen you for, like, a year! Are you dead? How are you? I heard another dancer broke your leg to get your slot dancing for Phunk-E! Oh my GOD! The picture of you dancing at Ultra World that I got off of Denver Underground is on ALL of my friend’s myspace!”
I was completely taken aback. I quickly collected myself and shook the stunned look off my face. I gave them a brief catch-up on the past year, delicately leaving out the drug addiction, horrible break up of the Boulder Raving Crew, and the destroyed mess my life had been until about three or four months ago.
The boy was completely mesmerized by my life, and couldn’t stop staring. I told them to come to me if they needed anything, and politely excused myself; directing them to run along and play nice with the other kids. As I retreated to the employee bathroom, I couldn’t help but be complexly overwhelmed by the entire situation. I took a moment to myself, grabbed a Red Bull, and headed back out to the floor.
As I finished looking at the pictures from past raves, I felt this incredible sense of qualm. According to my 13-year-old self, I had it all: People screaming my name, being recognized on the street, girls and guys wanting to fuck me, much less be me, and an entire crew made to assure a positive experience at raves and parties. What more could I want?
The downside of taking unmarked pills that came in a little baggie, is that is doesn’t have a “side effects” label, detailing the result of your consumption. My personal side effects label is incredibly lengthy; which was the deciding factor in changing my lifestyle.
I certainly don’t know where my life is going, or where I am going to be. However, I am quite confident as to where I have been, and where I will not be again.
Maybe I traded my glow sticks for a mop and broom, and perhaps I gave up fame at parties for the humble life of floor staff at TRACKS. What’s important is that I am living a life where honesty, being clean, and good old fashioned hard work is earning me a healthy, positive future. It may not be the most glamorous life, but I figure any situation can be a glamorous one, if you throw on a little glitter.
Matty B.
Not days before my roommate and I decided that I was to move out at the end of the month, I finally unpacked my last few boxes: one of which containing my old computer, that I haven’t used in almost a year.
I sat there for hours, looking at old pictures of past friends; at my past life. As I scanned the folders full of pictures of me and my “best friends” dancing at raves, drinking at BBQ’s, swimming during the summer, and the legendary “morning after breakfast’s” at Denny’s (post party, concert or rave), I couldn’t help but to feel this incredible pit in my stomach.
Dilated pupils, lock jaw, sweaty, blurry faces, grinned back at me from the brightly lit screen. I remember looking through music magazines when I was younger, seeing all these fabulous people dancing with the exact same expressions... Except the feeling that occurred was very different form the one that I have now.
At the age of 13, I remember ripping pictures of these fabulous people out of Happy Magazine and Flaunt. It filled me with and endless amount of optimism, because I would lie there listening to the electro-pop album that came with the magazine, picturing crowds of people scream my name, as I danced my little heart out.
Living in a sheltered suburb of Colorado can definitely be deter you from a dream of fame. It was only a matter of time, before I found myself re-applying on facial glitter, and blotting the beads of sweat from my face with a stage hand’s t-shirt.
I had a little flash from the past last Thursday when I was working the floor at TRACKS. Two adorable kids ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and stared up at me wide-eyed.
“Are you beautiful?” The thin, attractive twink asked me.
“Excuse me?”
“What he means is, are you Matty B.eautiful?” Screeched the thrilled fag-hag companion.
I stopped and stared at them for a beat.
“I suppose I am now, aren’t I?” I hesitated.
The two exchanged glances, immediately screamed at the top of their lungs, and tackled me.
A bit confused, I stood up, adjusted myself and grinned at them; confused.
“You are a LEGEND! I can’t believe you work here! Are you dancing tonight?! When’s your next show? Are you still dancing with Bliss? Where have you been? None of us have seen you for, like, a year! Are you dead? How are you? I heard another dancer broke your leg to get your slot dancing for Phunk-E! Oh my GOD! The picture of you dancing at Ultra World that I got off of Denver Underground is on ALL of my friend’s myspace!”
I was completely taken aback. I quickly collected myself and shook the stunned look off my face. I gave them a brief catch-up on the past year, delicately leaving out the drug addiction, horrible break up of the Boulder Raving Crew, and the destroyed mess my life had been until about three or four months ago.
The boy was completely mesmerized by my life, and couldn’t stop staring. I told them to come to me if they needed anything, and politely excused myself; directing them to run along and play nice with the other kids. As I retreated to the employee bathroom, I couldn’t help but be complexly overwhelmed by the entire situation. I took a moment to myself, grabbed a Red Bull, and headed back out to the floor.
As I finished looking at the pictures from past raves, I felt this incredible sense of qualm. According to my 13-year-old self, I had it all: People screaming my name, being recognized on the street, girls and guys wanting to fuck me, much less be me, and an entire crew made to assure a positive experience at raves and parties. What more could I want?
The downside of taking unmarked pills that came in a little baggie, is that is doesn’t have a “side effects” label, detailing the result of your consumption. My personal side effects label is incredibly lengthy; which was the deciding factor in changing my lifestyle.
I certainly don’t know where my life is going, or where I am going to be. However, I am quite confident as to where I have been, and where I will not be again.
Maybe I traded my glow sticks for a mop and broom, and perhaps I gave up fame at parties for the humble life of floor staff at TRACKS. What’s important is that I am living a life where honesty, being clean, and good old fashioned hard work is earning me a healthy, positive future. It may not be the most glamorous life, but I figure any situation can be a glamorous one, if you throw on a little glitter.
Matty B.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Busy Queen Bee
Working at the most popular gay club in Colorado defiantly puts you to the test. I spent the evening running around with an arm full of glasses, a headset full of people yelling for security to break up fights, certain bartenders yelling at me for more beer, and everyone and their mother grabbing my ass.
While working under extreme amounts of pressure may break people down, I find it exciting, and incredibly amusing. Although I have to do no-so-glamorous tasks every so often, I still find myself with a grin on my face at the end of the night.
I’ve been getting busier and busier lately, in an attempt to drown out any thoughts I may have about my friends, relationships, or family situations. Between working two jobs, trying to catch up on sleep and bills, I have been fairly successful. I haven’t had time to worry about what people think of me, because I’ve been having such a blast living life day-by-day.
My dear friend Nic and I had a wonderful brunch together a week or two ago. I was apparent that I had been completely overwhelmed by my first night working at TRACKS that previous evening, considering that I was in public wearing a purple sweatshirt, black sweat pants, green flip flops, and oversized sun glasses.
We got to sit down and talk about the crew: Steven, Eric, Nic, myself. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who could actively listen, and then provide feedback.
Steven suggested a few ways that I could improve myself; being less gay. To some degree, I know exactly what he’s talking about. No one likes a raging queen. Girl, I know I don’t. However, in the gay community I see a lot of guys snapping their fingers, and screaming “hay grill!” at the tops of their lungs, and while I admit to doing that from time to time, I also see how fake it is.
Growing up, everyone knew I was gay. Lets be real here; when I open up my mouth, a drag queen falls out and kicks you in the face. When I was younger I would always baby sit my little brother’s friends, and they would always ask me,” Matt, why don’t you talk in your normal voice?”
At the age of 13, and a freshman in high school, that’s a hard thing to hear. Living in the wet social rectum of Colorado (Longmont) surrounded my faggot hating, boot wearers, was tough enough as it was. The fact that I had a queeny woman voice that I just couldn’t shake, added insult to injury.
I don’t feel like writing anymore.
I get a lot of demands to update my blog. I know all my friends read it. (whether or not they are talking to me)
You know what? It’s not fir to me for everyone to be reading my life. Especially when I don’t want to write about it, at the moment.
If you’re reading this, and you want to know what’s going on with me, you are going to have to pull your shit together and fucking ask me.
What happens when I’m tired of being that great friend to everyone else, and I have NO ONE to return the favor?
I stop writing.
Matty B.
Working at the most popular gay club in Colorado defiantly puts you to the test. I spent the evening running around with an arm full of glasses, a headset full of people yelling for security to break up fights, certain bartenders yelling at me for more beer, and everyone and their mother grabbing my ass.
While working under extreme amounts of pressure may break people down, I find it exciting, and incredibly amusing. Although I have to do no-so-glamorous tasks every so often, I still find myself with a grin on my face at the end of the night.
I’ve been getting busier and busier lately, in an attempt to drown out any thoughts I may have about my friends, relationships, or family situations. Between working two jobs, trying to catch up on sleep and bills, I have been fairly successful. I haven’t had time to worry about what people think of me, because I’ve been having such a blast living life day-by-day.
My dear friend Nic and I had a wonderful brunch together a week or two ago. I was apparent that I had been completely overwhelmed by my first night working at TRACKS that previous evening, considering that I was in public wearing a purple sweatshirt, black sweat pants, green flip flops, and oversized sun glasses.
We got to sit down and talk about the crew: Steven, Eric, Nic, myself. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who could actively listen, and then provide feedback.
Steven suggested a few ways that I could improve myself; being less gay. To some degree, I know exactly what he’s talking about. No one likes a raging queen. Girl, I know I don’t. However, in the gay community I see a lot of guys snapping their fingers, and screaming “hay grill!” at the tops of their lungs, and while I admit to doing that from time to time, I also see how fake it is.
Growing up, everyone knew I was gay. Lets be real here; when I open up my mouth, a drag queen falls out and kicks you in the face. When I was younger I would always baby sit my little brother’s friends, and they would always ask me,” Matt, why don’t you talk in your normal voice?”
At the age of 13, and a freshman in high school, that’s a hard thing to hear. Living in the wet social rectum of Colorado (Longmont) surrounded my faggot hating, boot wearers, was tough enough as it was. The fact that I had a queeny woman voice that I just couldn’t shake, added insult to injury.
I don’t feel like writing anymore.
I get a lot of demands to update my blog. I know all my friends read it. (whether or not they are talking to me)
You know what? It’s not fir to me for everyone to be reading my life. Especially when I don’t want to write about it, at the moment.
If you’re reading this, and you want to know what’s going on with me, you are going to have to pull your shit together and fucking ask me.
What happens when I’m tired of being that great friend to everyone else, and I have NO ONE to return the favor?
I stop writing.
Matty B.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Listen
I was sitting on the couch watching the OC Season Three, and Ryan and Marissa finally got back into Harbor, and started applying for colleges. Seth and Summer decided that they should both apply for Brown. I decided I needed to get off my lazy ass and do something with my life. So I put on some pants and decided to take action. Nothing in your life will change, if you don’t change. So does the journey to self discovery begin.
Last night was my first night back at the gym. I think that the best way to feel good about yourself is by creating positive changes in your life. When you work out, your body releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. It’s as simple as that. It wouldn’t hurt to feel good about my body. Plus, my roommate suggested that I should consider getting liposuction. Although he says tons of stuff like that to validate his own personal decisions, it wouldn’t hurt to tone up, and slim down. No one likes a fatty.
I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish between now, and the New Year. At the top of that list, was to get away from this shitty school known as the Art Institute, and get into the
Another item on my list, was to create more art. I’ve really been letting myself go, as far as art goes, with the exception of my blog, because I’ve been so busy, attempting to improve my financial standings. Well not anymore! I had my final day at Melt, and now I actually have time to do things with my life, that actually matter.
I really think that this will be a positive step for me. Taking some time to myself, observing things that aren’t a positive influence in my life, maturing and developing my body... it should be interesting to see how this plays out.
Until next time…
Matty B.
All The Leaves Are Brown And The Sky Is Grey
The past week has been over saturated. The Highs, the lows, the colors, the grays; when it was good, it was great. When it was bad, it was fuckin' ugly. All I can say is that I did NOT get the R&R that I needed. I did however, see the true colors of my friends, and have an absolute blast.
The sky has been a miserable melancholy gray for the past few days. Between the rain, the wind, and the browns of the trampled fall leaves, the city has been wallowing in its’ own self pity. As I sat under my white and green Lacoste umbrella listening to my iPod, I realized that sometimes, you have accept the fact that sometimes things aren’t always what you tell yourself they are.
I sat there looking at the world around me, the cold black streets, the dark grays and browns of the surrounding buildings. Maybe its pessimism or maybe it’s a moment of clarity, but Denver isn’t so amazing. Life isn’t as amazing as I keep talking it up to myself. I’ve been trying to convince myself that if I work myself to the bone, get in with the right people, wear the right clothes, make enough money; things will get better for me.
I went to my first 21+ night, at TRACKS, on Friday. There were maybe four people there. Okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration; however, there couldn’t have been more than 50 people there. At the hottest gay club in Denver, there were only 50 people? It was definitely a shocker and a let down. I heard Saturdays are the night to go, but was still hoping that it wasn’t the pathetic excuse that is undoubtedly was. I however, still had a blast because I had a few drinks and a few rides on the mechanical bull, with my very dear friends (and Lesbian Mafia), Bri, Rae, and Ange.
When I text Eric that night letting him know, I got no reply, as usual. It seems that more and more, he’s been screening my text messages. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he’s actually text me back. Oh yeah, he text me back on Friday, when he cancelled on me to sporadically drive to Longmont to hang out with a friend. You know, I keep talking him up to myself. I keep talking up all my friends to make them so much better than they actually are.
I suppose I wouldn’t be as upset as I am about being blown off, if it didn’t keep happening. It’s not just him, either. My friends just think that they can say one thing, and do something completely different. Maybe it’s the people I’m choosing to spend time with. Maybe I’m too easy going, and let them think its okay to blow me off. Either way, it’s fucked up, and it’s getting old. Fast.
The bus comes, and I step up, pay my fare, and sit down in the first available seat. I look around at all the different faces, and I can’t help but to wonder if something similar is happening with them.
Growing up, I had very minimal friends. In fact, I had no friends. I was pretty much a social outcast until my junior year of high school. I had been going to school with the same people for years, and no ever looked twice at me. I was hideous and overweight, and my family was broke. I lived in a trailer, for Christ’s sake. I spent as much time as I could, dancing at the studio in Boulder, because it was my escape from the loneliness of being at the bottom. Well now, I’m not at the bottom. I’m not broke, hideous or overweight anymore. Hell, while I am a bottom, my friend’s call me a “bottom on top”.
But I still have that very familiar feeling of being alone. Here I am exuding success, and suddenly I realize that I’m not as high up as I thought I was.
Sometimes, when you work for something hard enough, you actually get the desired result. That’s not the case with me. Nothing is ever handed to me, not that I would want it to. Every so often, I would like things to go in my favor.
Every so often, I would really appreciate a friend.
Matty B.
The past week has been over saturated. The Highs, the lows, the colors, the grays; when it was good, it was great. When it was bad, it was fuckin' ugly. All I can say is that I did NOT get the R&R that I needed. I did however, see the true colors of my friends, and have an absolute blast.
The sky has been a miserable melancholy gray for the past few days. Between the rain, the wind, and the browns of the trampled fall leaves, the city has been wallowing in its’ own self pity. As I sat under my white and green Lacoste umbrella listening to my iPod, I realized that sometimes, you have accept the fact that sometimes things aren’t always what you tell yourself they are.
I sat there looking at the world around me, the cold black streets, the dark grays and browns of the surrounding buildings. Maybe its pessimism or maybe it’s a moment of clarity, but Denver isn’t so amazing. Life isn’t as amazing as I keep talking it up to myself. I’ve been trying to convince myself that if I work myself to the bone, get in with the right people, wear the right clothes, make enough money; things will get better for me.
I went to my first 21+ night, at TRACKS, on Friday. There were maybe four people there. Okay that’s a bit of an exaggeration; however, there couldn’t have been more than 50 people there. At the hottest gay club in Denver, there were only 50 people? It was definitely a shocker and a let down. I heard Saturdays are the night to go, but was still hoping that it wasn’t the pathetic excuse that is undoubtedly was. I however, still had a blast because I had a few drinks and a few rides on the mechanical bull, with my very dear friends (and Lesbian Mafia), Bri, Rae, and Ange.
When I text Eric that night letting him know, I got no reply, as usual. It seems that more and more, he’s been screening my text messages. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he’s actually text me back. Oh yeah, he text me back on Friday, when he cancelled on me to sporadically drive to Longmont to hang out with a friend. You know, I keep talking him up to myself. I keep talking up all my friends to make them so much better than they actually are.
I suppose I wouldn’t be as upset as I am about being blown off, if it didn’t keep happening. It’s not just him, either. My friends just think that they can say one thing, and do something completely different. Maybe it’s the people I’m choosing to spend time with. Maybe I’m too easy going, and let them think its okay to blow me off. Either way, it’s fucked up, and it’s getting old. Fast.
The bus comes, and I step up, pay my fare, and sit down in the first available seat. I look around at all the different faces, and I can’t help but to wonder if something similar is happening with them.
Growing up, I had very minimal friends. In fact, I had no friends. I was pretty much a social outcast until my junior year of high school. I had been going to school with the same people for years, and no ever looked twice at me. I was hideous and overweight, and my family was broke. I lived in a trailer, for Christ’s sake. I spent as much time as I could, dancing at the studio in Boulder, because it was my escape from the loneliness of being at the bottom. Well now, I’m not at the bottom. I’m not broke, hideous or overweight anymore. Hell, while I am a bottom, my friend’s call me a “bottom on top”.
But I still have that very familiar feeling of being alone. Here I am exuding success, and suddenly I realize that I’m not as high up as I thought I was.
Sometimes, when you work for something hard enough, you actually get the desired result. That’s not the case with me. Nothing is ever handed to me, not that I would want it to. Every so often, I would like things to go in my favor.
Every so often, I would really appreciate a friend.
Matty B.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired
My phone rang at 10:15am this morning. My hand surfaced out of the deep red sea of comforters, and lazily sought out whatever was making such a wretched noise, at such an early hour. Heather told me to get my lazy ass out of bed, and to join her and Beth downstairs at Panera Bread, for a bagel.
A pair of knit sweats, a Lacoste undershirt, and an oversized pair of white sunglasses later, I was munching on an asiago cheese bagel with light spread. I knew I looked a mess. It was almost embarrassing to be in public looking the way I did.
After I went back to my apartment, I hopped into the very inviting shower. I sat there for a moment, just thinking about everything that has happened over the past week. In response to my resignation at Melt, the owner offered me a pay raise, to stay for a month, and hire two people to replace me. We talked it over, and he admitted that he had been over working me, and underpaying me. I agreed to help him out, and we decided I would stay until October.
When I was on my two-hour break in between jobs, Aimee and I went toDiedrich’s Dazbog to get some coffee, and get away from the mall. Afterwards, we went to Cheeseman Park, where we just laid in the grass, and talked. She said she didn’t know how I did it. Working two three jobs, going to school, and managing time with friends… told me of her mother’s concern. I re assured her that I was going to be okay, rolled onto my back, and took a deep breath; breathing in the fresh smell of a grassy vacation.
Eric and I went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory two nights ago, and it was absolutely delightful. We got to talk about everything that’s been happening over the past few weeks, and really get to reconnect. We made plans to hang out this weekend, and I am more than thrilled to do so.
I’ve felt so incredibly overwhelmed by the constant chaos that’s been fueling my life recently. Every morning I’m up at 8am, and every night I get home at 11:15am. Work all day, and utter exhaustion by the time I hit my pillow at midnight. I haven’t even been able to think about guys, dating, fucking, anything. Hell, I’ve barely been able to keep up with myspace.
Being disconnected from the world has completely segregated me from all my friends. It’s a lonely life, working all the time. More often than not, I’ve found that I’m always feeling alone, and depressed. Sitting on the bus, on my way home is the worst. Being plagued by exhaustion plus feeling completely isolated emotionally, is almost unbearable.
I step out of my shower, and the Muffs “Kids in America” start to play. I pat dry my face, pull on a graphic t-shirt, girl jeans, and my trade mark sunglasses. There’s no way I’m going to let myself fall into a funk. I’m young and I’ll bounce back from this! I have to. I will.
As I step outside, I realize how beautiful today is. I’ve spent weeks cooped up inside, and I could never take the time to appreciate the beauty around me. Why ruin my ONLY day off, by worrying and fretting over work?
I may have her sense of humor, her hair, and her eyes, but I am not my mother. And I am going to make the best of my days.
Matty B.
My phone rang at 10:15am this morning. My hand surfaced out of the deep red sea of comforters, and lazily sought out whatever was making such a wretched noise, at such an early hour. Heather told me to get my lazy ass out of bed, and to join her and Beth downstairs at Panera Bread, for a bagel.
A pair of knit sweats, a Lacoste undershirt, and an oversized pair of white sunglasses later, I was munching on an asiago cheese bagel with light spread. I knew I looked a mess. It was almost embarrassing to be in public looking the way I did.
After I went back to my apartment, I hopped into the very inviting shower. I sat there for a moment, just thinking about everything that has happened over the past week. In response to my resignation at Melt, the owner offered me a pay raise, to stay for a month, and hire two people to replace me. We talked it over, and he admitted that he had been over working me, and underpaying me. I agreed to help him out, and we decided I would stay until October.
When I was on my two-hour break in between jobs, Aimee and I went to
Eric and I went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory two nights ago, and it was absolutely delightful. We got to talk about everything that’s been happening over the past few weeks, and really get to reconnect. We made plans to hang out this weekend, and I am more than thrilled to do so.
I’ve felt so incredibly overwhelmed by the constant chaos that’s been fueling my life recently. Every morning I’m up at 8am, and every night I get home at 11:15am. Work all day, and utter exhaustion by the time I hit my pillow at midnight. I haven’t even been able to think about guys, dating, fucking, anything. Hell, I’ve barely been able to keep up with myspace.
Being disconnected from the world has completely segregated me from all my friends. It’s a lonely life, working all the time. More often than not, I’ve found that I’m always feeling alone, and depressed. Sitting on the bus, on my way home is the worst. Being plagued by exhaustion plus feeling completely isolated emotionally, is almost unbearable.
I step out of my shower, and the Muffs “Kids in America” start to play. I pat dry my face, pull on a graphic t-shirt, girl jeans, and my trade mark sunglasses. There’s no way I’m going to let myself fall into a funk. I’m young and I’ll bounce back from this! I have to. I will.
As I step outside, I realize how beautiful today is. I’ve spent weeks cooped up inside, and I could never take the time to appreciate the beauty around me. Why ruin my ONLY day off, by worrying and fretting over work?
I may have her sense of humor, her hair, and her eyes, but I am not my mother. And I am going to make the best of my days.
Matty B.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
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.
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.
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