Anonymous said: homeboy got his dick wet and gave you the courtesy of staying in touch briefly after. homeboy doesn't want to hear about your stupid thoughts and tribulations, lemme tell you how a nigga is gonna be too anxious to be around someone he truly likes, you just another pair of legs that were spread to fulfill another's hopeless desires. are you willingly naive or just retarded? there's nothing poetic or interesting about your story, just another dumb instance of fuckery. not deep, just shallow action
Ok, soooo if you’ve followed my blog for any amount of time ( which I’m just going to assume you haven’t to give you the benefit of the doubt ) you would know that I’m a masochist. I also can be self-depreciating to a fault - which probably goes hand and hand. I mean why else would I allow people to anonymously send me mostly insulting messages? Even if what you’re saying is true (I left out a lot of mushy details including several games of MASH) …The ‘Detroit boy city’ post wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for me.
Gas money to whoever can take me somewhere and do this again #tbt #countrystory #lagrande
I feel like thus far there’s been a lot of talk about heartbreak. So, I figured I’d tell you a tale which concludes with debilitating anxiety and utter confusion. Much better, right?
It began with a trip - a tour of sorts - for a film I was in. Four glorious days plus some hours through the beautiful Midwest. In March. Our last stop happened to be the picturesque Detroit, MI for a midnight screening and performance (the reason I can call it a tour is because we were traveling with a musician and he would perform before every screening). If you can believe it, after a terrifying experience in Fort Wayne, IN, Detroit seemed safe…ish.
The motley crew, consisting of my director/producer, our graphic designer, the singer/songwriter (all men and accounted for) and myself, roll into Michigan’s ghost-town around 1030pm. A day or so prior we had made sleeping arrangements with a friend of a friend and my director, in particular, was a little skeptical as we approached a graffiti-clad 2 story home on a deserted street.
To our relief, a blonde kid of about 25 (if he’s the same age as me or younger he’s a kid) in a striped long-sleeve shirt and loafers without socks, so you could see his ankles, greeted us with a smile. He introduced himself as Matt and apologized for the state of the place. It was huge and lovely inside compared to what us Brooklyn-ites were used to.
Instantly, I felt a connection to him. At the time I thought it must just be his style. Honestly, I assumed he was gay. I mean after all, as he politely helped us bring our bags inside he seemed to only speak to my male companions and barely made eye contact with me. So, he must be gay…right?
He informed us that he was going to a party and might not make it to our screening but we should make ourselves at home in the mean time. The four of us vagabonds, tired, ragged, and aching from our trip thus far (and also having seen our film and played our songs too many times to count) decided to bail on our last screening of the tour. Instead, we opt to get drunk, eat snacks, and listen/dance to and perform horrible pop songs in Matt’s living room.
Midway through an a capella, harmonized version of the Miley Cyrus classic, Wrecking Ball, Matt walks in. He takes a seat on the floor and lights up a Red.
Let’s pause for a moment so I can remind you that I’ve been on a roadtrip with three boys in the middle of winter in the midwest. OH, and I haven’t had a cigarette. I also was just drunk enough to hang on Matt’s every word - waiting for something that might disprove my initial thoughts about his sexuality.
And then, he mentioned his ex.
Yeah? Yeah? What kind of Ex? I silently pleaded.
“…her…” and then “…she…”
Like flashes of strobe light, my traveling companions will tell you, one second we were all dancing to Katy Perry and the next they were getting woken up by the banging of Matt’s head board again his bedroom wall.
I sat next to him. I bummed a cigarette.
We were making out on the floor. We were making out on the couch…
Before we left the driveway Matt and I were texting. Before I went to bed in Brooklyn I’d sent him a photo. Before the week was up we’d fantasized about our futures. Before two weeks were up he was in New York.
Less than four days into his stay he couldn’t spend the night. Less than a week into his stay he went home to Detroit….because being around me, gave him so much anxiety, he’d rather be back ….in Detroit.
'babe, what's the safety word'
'jacobs by marc jacobs for marc by marc jacobs in collaboration with marc jacobs for marc by marc jacobs'