Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Frontin' the gasian frontier

Here's the thing...
In my heart there is this deep sadness for my fellow queer asian brothers. I don't understand why you get discrimated upon in this community. The kids say the darndest things, like you don't have big man parts, that you are submissive, that you all practice Kung Fu, but I have one thing to say: sign me up for the Tokyo express. Recently I have joined the Panda Bandwagon and I've been riding recklessly with only a lapbelt.

It all started back when...
I remember it like it was yesterday. I had grown tired of my grown up "dating" websites, aka barebacking portals, and wanted to find true love. I, the baller on a budget that I am, went to the trusty FREE website OKCupid. (My asian brother, I realize that you enjoy saving a dollar; whether it be in a reduced tip or a shopping coupon, but your saving game has not gone unrecognized) Within a matter of days my website generated matches were mostly asian and this is when my mouth started watering for rice. I had realized that my eyes had been closed for so long to the wonder of the Orient. I knew that the next time I opened my eyes the only thing I would see was the wonderful color of yellow. (bad puns over)
I just knew I was playing the field. I had spoken with every Kim, Wang, Lo and Lee. All were smart. All were multi talented. All had everything I wanted. So I found one in particular to go on a date with-a face to face if you will...and me knowing the person you are, you will. It turned out to be, well very interesting. It redefined wang chung.
In this section I will do a compare and contrast.

Myths about G'Asians
G'asians can't drink...(false)
*Not only did he outdrink me but he challenged me to a game of beerpong with Sake*
G'asians are submissive...(false)
*After i got the rope from around my neck, and now that I can sit with ease: i can write with confidence-- F*@K what you heard. I still have to buy more Ben Gay!*
G'asians have small man parts...(...)

I am not afraid to jump feet first into the world of high fashion and slight eyes. I just know to be more prepared next time.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Beautiully Human

I am brass. giddy. quiet. sensitve. cold. angry. bitter. lonely. jaded. excited. full of life. lover of people. hater of people. simple. flamboyant. a failure. a success: beautifully human.

Today I start this post a little crazy on the inside. The sky is thought provoking gray. There is this crisp chill in the air that kinda hugs you and keeps you wrapped in it's prescence. The wind is whispering. The birds still. Today the city is sleeping. It's the beginning of a week and this beast that is New York is lightly resting her eyes; I rest silently with her. I sit at this coppercovered bar. Food to my left, bottles in front of me, my head empty and yet my mind races. Here's the real problem. I left a voice lesson today. It was the first time I had been to one in well over two years. I wasn't perfect in my lesson. My voice sounded weak. It didn't do what I needed it to do. I was embarassed. I was angry. I felt stupid. I felt like the one thing I am great at, I couldn't do. My pride was hurt. My teacher didn't come from a place of judgement, but of encouragement. I'm pretty sure I didn't sound as bad as I am making it out. I've pinpointed the reason why I'm so frustrated. This lesson is just one more example of my non perfection. I am not perfect. I am not perfect. I am not perfect. I've known this for years. I'm not perfect in comparsion with others. My beauty is not like theirs. My comedy-not like theirs. My flaws-not like theirs. But if they were would I be any more special because my flaws are exact to that of someone else? No. I'd just be a carbon copy of someone else's perfect little flaws. I've come up with this theory: my flaws are my perfection. Simple right. That theory allows you to love all the things that you hate. It reinforces that you, indeed, are not a mistake. One thing that makes me excited is that he, the one who will rest his head on my shoulder while I clean up dinner dishes, will love my flaws. It's taken me awhile to understand my beauty. It's difficult when you belong to an environment, a culture, a society that places such importance on being thin and proportioned and to look this way or that. I've learned that I cannot be boxed and my challenge to you: don't allow yourself to be boxed! I relax back into my chair now and quietly rejoicing in my humaness, my "flawed" humaness that makes me beautiful. love you as much as i'm learning to me.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

.....if you can't love yourself

How can you love someone else if you don't truly love yourself? I have heard that phrase soo many times in my life. There have been times when I have truly been so annoyed by that phrase that I've wanted to throw up. But it rings true. Today I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm lonely. I'm pissed. I'm being honest. The past few days of cloudiness has drawn out to weeks and the weeks to months and I sit here wondering-when was the last time I didn't feel this rumble of anger in my spirit? Have I really been looking and loving through cloudy eyes? Have I? Have I cheapened my relationships with new people in my life? Have I fairly given them a chance? And why, why have I been running to find new people and places to fill this whatever? I've been hurt by noone in particular but by everyone. My song is strained. My breath labored. My embrace half assed. I can't help make anyone better when I can't even make myself better. Lost. Weakened by reality. Callused by, just by life. And yet everyday I push up against it and fight to not let it affect my life. I have joy. Joy is this beautiful thing that is nonsituational. Joy is deep and can withstand so much, but it's the situations that have really, really pullled me together. In the media there is noone like me. There are not many people like me. On the outside looking in makes me scream. I won't necessarily mind being one in the crowd, instead of standing alone and the crowd forms around the spectacle. I scream. My mouth opens, my chords freeze and my eyes water. I'm saying I need help. I'm saying listen to me. I'm saying care about what I need to say...and you say(...) When you hurt it's not fair. Not fair to you, people you love, places you gets to be a little too much. To heal yourself you need to get away. To sit. To be quiet. To get lost in your world of confusion, of noise, of silence, of twisted thoughts, be lost in you. Let all the pain flood the back of your eyelids. Let all the hate seep from your pores. Shake off all the negativity that is choking your heart and spitting angrily to people you love in hopefully unheard insults. And sometimes we write. We write to let people know they are not alone. That alot of people hate themselves. That alot of people are vulnerable. That alot of people feel this. We write because sometimes noone listens. And yet everyone hears....nothing. I write because I don't know how to articulate what needs to escape. i write to let me pain out. I write because I feel alone in a world surrounded by people. I write cause I'm angry, i'm hopeful, I'm lonely, I horny, I'm missunderstood, I'm seen and yet am invisible, i don't trust myself and don't believe that anyone else can love me, i write my clarity, my honesty, your truths, your weaknesses, your voice and for my own sanity. I write today to say..i don't love myself like i should but today i'm admitting it and can only grow from here. I write because my voice is that of many and my chords are lives past and present and they channell life through my fingers. I write. I'm now silent. I peacefully reflect. I thank you for your ear and your heart.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Skinny cold ain't you?

That's right I said it and i am not afraid! As summer sprints out of this bitch, Finter(fall+winter) is tightly on it's half clothed ass. I, a person who sometimes carry a little bit of weight about my hips and stomach, aka a big bitch, is proud to see that annoying ho leave. I am over the back sweat, the moist crotch and the constant circles of sweat underneath my arms. Just always warm. But now comes the time of year when the extra jiggle that wouldn't allow me to wear my racer back tank and my linen daisy dukes comes in handy. It keeps me warm, like a goose down comforter, like a hot sip of coffee going down your raw sore throat. Oh, my poor counterparts. You remember how you would take your tops off so slowly at the beach and I was in the corner slowly dying of heat stroke cause I had the moobies acebandaged and taped. Dear small frame, do you remember when you would rotate front to back making sure you got that all over tan and if i was brave enough that day to unleash the girls in public, i would lay on my stomach getting burnt on one side trying to front like I had it all together, creating this two toned ho-ho that was never quite right. Dear avoider of carbs, do you remember when you used to walk down the streets shirtless in basketball shorts and no drawers, well thank you for that one, hell I can't be mad at that at all. My point being, the sun is going away and now you're cold. Why are you gonna be cold? YOU HAVE NO BODY FAT!! HAHAHAHA! So if you catch a chill and you wanna snuggle up to something warm and nice, come see your boy! Theres enough love for all of us in the warmth of my embrace. The big boys are in season right now and I couldn't be happier.

Peacefully warm,
Plussize Twink

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


In the sweet wintry months of 2009 I coined the term "Recessionista" for myself. You might be asking yourself, what does that mean? It means that you still live fabulously on a low to no budget budget. Still be seen at the same spots where you have been seen before....same clubs, same shows, same spots; afterall, no one needs to know that your bank account is overdrawna and your EBT card empty. Throw on a boat, a pair of shades, plaster a smile on and strut down the street somewhere.So needless to say I have spent a great deal of time thinkin of what I could do for really cheap that would still keep my face out and about and that would give me something to do....i came up with coffee. Think of this: it's cheap, it's cute, prime people watching and you can get things done. There is only one big problem with this: I'm caffeine sensitive. One drop of coffee and I literally could run up and down the Statue of Liberty in one swoop. I am what the kids call naturally hyper. As a child sugar was not allowed in my diet. AT ALL. I think to remedy my amounts of crazy energy my mother would send me outside and by send my outside I mean lock me out the house and tell me not to bring my ass back inside until dinner time. I mean i'm not mad at her. I was a nappy head chocolate ball of energy. I often used my outside times as times of discovery. Solo football games, creating operas, playing waterhose, dry humping the boys in my know-innocent things. Fridays, oh Fridays were my favorite days. I got a chance to have sugar and that was the one day of the week my mother hated. I was allowed a Lipton Brisk Iced Tea and a Twix, aka a shit show in plastic. I got my treat at 5, by 630 I was passed out from sugar overload. You may laugh but in that hour and a half between joy and dispair was so much crazy YOU would have died. I'm just saying one day I woke up out of one of my sugar blackouts and a dead goat was lying beside me with it's tail dyed and least that's what I remember![insert inquisitive eyebrow raise and scary dramatic music] And you would think that as you grow older it would calm down some, not so much. I sit here now heart a fluttering because I was feeling lovely today and had two Venti drinks from Starbucks. I promise you, if it was not for me trying to be smooth in front of this extremely attractive browned eyed big booty boy sitting in front of me I would be doing cartwheels and cooterslams!!! I am T minus 15 minutes before I pass out, asleep, on the bathroom floor of Starbucks among the morning pee and your general STD's. Oh a day in the life!

love plussize twink,

p.s. coffee makes you poo!!!!

Monday, August 30, 2010

Man boobs. Summer Heat. A dream

Question: Why is the sun so angry with me today? I tiptoed out of my house today with the delicate smell of a cucumber spray on my neck, the robust smell of high endurance underneath my arms and betwixt my legs was the sensual smell of sunflower baby powder. I was ready to take on the day. Two steps out of the building the sun began it's very personal attack against me. Thus my personal summer began. It seemed like the bitch hid on top of my building and as soon as I stepped out the door, she came and sat on the bridge of my nose. The sweat happened immediately. First it started with the gentle lip sweat, then it moved down to the sweat drip that collects at the bottom of your back, top of your ass. This is where it started to get very uncomfortable. And then I felt it...the "under the tit sweat". It's so gross! Sidenote: dear women, you have bras with fabric that soak up the moist nasty that is "under the tit sweat", but us men we have to grin and bear it(sidenote finished) All the smell good that only a few minutes before was applied had gone to shit. Instead of delicate cucumber it smelled like dill pickles, my high endurance turned to no endurance and sunflower baby powder smelled like pungent toe cheese. It was...a mess. Ok, it wasn't that bad, but damn the heat makes you delusional. (See delusional me) I continued my day. Picked up a headshot. Drank an ice coffee. Contemplated life.
In my life there is this need for greatness. In my life there is this fear of my own greatness. This obnoxious strength. This beautiful vulnerability. Why am I so afraid to just be the fabulous person that I am? Why is it that when i'm home standing in front of my mirror, naked, staring at every scar, stretch mark, dimple and every perfect imperfection; I see how beautifully human I am: I am gorgeous. When I leave the comfort of my safety place, my sanctuary, I allow what others definition of beautiful affect me. I allow stupid thoughts like am I too fat, too dark, too sloppy, too feminine, too flawed penetrate my soul. I doubt myself. I dumb myself down. I allow my greatness to flow, like rainwater and pollution, down the gutter. I negate everything I stand for and yet, I allow it to happen all the time. My definition of a strong person is someone who can be as strong as need be and as vunerable within the same respect. My battle with loving and owning and respecting my greatness, will continue to be just that, a small battle in this crazy war called life and acceptance. Oh what a day.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Drunk, Love, Peace

People look at me sometimes and say Ms. Whitfield(a name a may or may not have given myself that my friends have taken libertywith and use frequently) how did you become so fabulous and I will tell you exactly how-three words: Gwenevere Diana Whitfield(the original OG)

My mother is perhaps the funniest person I have ever known in my life. Hell she was THE first person i've ever known in my life. Take all the crazy that I am and put it in a natural born woman and you have Gwenenvere Diana. My mother is brass, loving, swears like a sailor, loves a good puff of Easter Grass and cannot, I repeat, cannot live without her 40's which she enjoys in champagne glasses with neon flexi straws. I know that you are thinking that I am possibly making this up, but you can't write anything as good as this. She is also one of the most accepting, patient, loving and beautiful lambs ever. Here's a glimpse into my life.

A little background.
I grew up a little country boy in a small town in NC. Our house was always the meeting place for our family. And by family I mean birth family, neighborhood friends, the drunks from under the tree or anybody who just didn't have anybody to go home to-they were all my family. There has never been any point in my life, that I can remember, where there wasn't somebody random living on my couch. You could say that we were ghetto fabulous. I had my own barber, my drunk step-grandfather named Duck, who would give me bowl cuts with an actual bowl he placed on my head. We always had "security" at our house. There was an army of old neighborhood libation lovers who sat under a tree near my house everyday; enjoying libations. At some point in the day they would get hungry and would stop by our house and hang for hours. Strangers were only allowed to get so close my family looked out for them and they in turn looked out for us. I had a "manny" and his name was Butt-Butt. Butt-Butt lived with us for as long as I can remember. He slept on our couch and did repairs when ever they were needed. He lived with us from the time I was 6 to 15. He was an old war vet who self medicated. The worst time of day for me was when he got the shakes, he'd take a drink and be better almost instantly. I liked when he got better, I hated the time when he looked like he was in agony. He used to sit with me on the front porch and teach me old songs that he learned in the war:"Girl from Impanima", "Write Myself a Letter" and some other old standards. He was the only example of a stable man in my life. My father played the ONLY game of "now you see me, now you don't." Although I was surrounded by males he was one of the only ones who taught me what it was to be a man. I think one of my strongest gifts is that I can see people. I can see above their circumstances and the war scars that life may have given them, bypass all that is their core-the meat of their being- innocence. Underneath track marks, damaged livers, and shakey hands are the people who taught ME love and to never judge anyone else. After all, if you are seen as the bottom of the totem pole, who can you judge? Isn't it ironic that those who have "the least" are more willing to accept and see people for who they really are, ironic?
Ms Gwenevere Diana never worried with whom she left me. She knew I was in good hands. I was a free spirit who entertained himself for hours. I never bothered anybody, except my sister, and I played by myself a lot. I hung out with grownups and hung onto everyword they spoke. I miss those moments these days. I miss staring in the eyes of someone who has lived life. I miss listening to their spoken and unspoken stories and realizing that every wrinkle on their body has knowledge stored in them. I was raised by simple folk. People who didn't need to use huge words to express themselves. People whose actions spoke eloquently what their non-formally educated minds could express. A legacy of love was left to me. My life's journey is to pass it on to you.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

White Peaches

Today life picked me up and whispered I love you. It gently kissed me with a breeze. It hugged me with the sun. It filled me with air fresh and calm.
Today I sit here in the park, olive oil in my pores, Jennifer Hudson in my ear, thoughts running marathons in my head.

Clarity. I feel that daily I lace up my boxing gloves and fight doubt and confusion and acceptance. I don't want to keep being a martyr. It gets to be too much for me. At what point in my life is my season of increase gonna come. I moved here to NYC with nothing but a dream, rent money and no plans. And New York, guess what? I made it! I'm still here Bitch! I've done you and i'm doing you. I will not be crushed by you and my insecurities. Today I whisper till I scream in my heart that I am here!!!! I am more than a conqueror and there is nothing that life can throw at me or has tried to throw at me that I already haven't beaten.

Plussize Twink

Friday, August 13, 2010

My passion

In my head there is a beat. One that i can't quite shake. One that makes my toes tap and one that makes my head bob. One that makes my fingertips drum and one that beats to a song unsung. It's called rhythm. It's called life. It is my life. My beat is music. Underneath my knees there is something that makes my legs jump. At the base of my spine my hips swirl. My eyes blink to a percussive force and I do nothing but let it happen. I shake and jiggle walking down the street a smile on my face, hot cement on my feet. My gift, my blessin; my dreams. Music. Dear music beat in me till my breath no longer draws and silence fills my ears for once and for all. Until then, my dear friend, pulse in me, inspire me, draw me in, endow me, allow me.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Video of Death

Sometimes you view things that you don't necessarily want to see or ever need to see. I just watched a video of murder. A murder. A gang of men in some Indian country gathered around a woman beaten badly. She had been spit upon, stomped in the face, punched, kicked, drug and the final blow was a cement block being dropped twice on her head. MURDER. Viewed not discretely but on a public forum, on Facebook. The issues that surround this are so many: why is there a crowd of men beating a woman to death and noone stopping them-noone. What kind of sick person thinks this is okay to put on the internet to share with the rest of the world? What kind of person picks this up off a site and places it on a public forum for everyone to see? And what kind of person does it make me that I just viewed it? It had an affect. It made me so angry and sick to my stomach that i'm not well. I probably won't be well for a minute. Where and in what society is it perfectly okay to do this? I mean are we really that barbaric and the need for blood that severe that this is okay. In America, women have fought an intense battle to be seen as equal to their counterpartse-men. Their advances have more than double women in other places. Although some feel that the battle has not gained much ground-there are not community supported mobs robbing the lives of a woman. Or are there? The way this woman was treated was not human, was not animal. It was evil how they treated her and even if it was a case of adultery: when is this, death, a suitable punishment. The fact that another human video taped this and I watched this, even if it was just a small portion, what does THAT say about our society? Are we truly that hungry for voyeurism and real life "entertainment" that we will watch anything? And was this posting meant to be a warning to others? Kinda like back in the day when the town would gather to watch a hanging? I would always wonder what sick fucks would watch that? Who willingly volunteers for mental torture? I write with such rage and fury because myheart has never experienced anything like that. I have a soul that is very sensitive to other people and their energies and to watch that and feel it is a bit too much. My heart breaks for humanity. It crumples for all the strong women in my life who fight for rights and this is some bullshit that should have never happened. I'm off to reset my soul.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Today I was sitting in a mall. Perhaps I was even enjoying the smooth, exotic, yet familiar taste of a Chic-Fil-A sandwhich and waffle fries when I was taken aback by one of my full figured black sisters. Endulge me if you will. I glance up slowly from dipping my waffle frie into the tangy sweetness of the polynesian sauce when my eyes were flooded with visions of spaghetti straps and backfat, lo rise jeans and a white lace thong. There was a gag. A drop of fry. A "Shit". Then an even more audible "REALLY!?!" Thusly, I write this letter to my fellow Lane Bryant shoppers and enjoyers of buffets and victims of genetics:

I believe in taking risks and being daring in clothing choices-my onesie for example, but I need you to realize that we can't wear everything. We should dress to accentuate our positives: beautiful cleavage, nice legs, smoldering eyes, structured face, nice hands, pretty wrists; those things beautiful on us beautiful. Those things that we keep under wraps: our backfat that's the only thing i really care about.


Wednesday, July 28, 2010


The sounds of the city are slowly creeping into my cracked open windows. The melody of honking horns and chugging trucks and people yelling and babies giggling is harmonizing with the static sounds playfully leaping from my radio. The whisps of steam float above my coffee. The linen curtains flap in the breeze. I sit at my seats edge, legs open staring down between my legs..thinking nothing except how much i love the underwear im wearing. My head rests heavily on my shoulders. The weight of my thoughts are starting to take a physical manifestation. They are weighing as heavy as the feeling of lead in my heart right now. He hurt me. Brakes squeal in the distance and i'm snapped out of my daze. I look up. Facebook is staring at my face. Oh look Victor just landed a callback. I momentarily rejoice. I should call him. Damn, I can't shake this. Before I know it my head is back at 0 and i now notice that a pedicure may be in order. I chuckle at this thought. I start to see way beyond the exposed cuticle. I glance down past the hardwood floors, my gaze is reaching beyond the apartment below and somehow my soul attaches to this and before you know it, i'm tip toeing barefoot down the street.

I look to my left and to my right and the whole world has frozen. The whole world has waited for me to be here, right now, at this exact moment and it scares me. I catch out of my right eye frozen limbs, various forms of people in action. I notice Silence. The only rhythm, the only music I can hear right now is the pulsing of my blood in my body, the percussive beating of my cells playing bumper cars off each other and i can even hear the faintest sound of my DNA exploring mysteries and releasing information constantly controlling me and allowing me to be here right now. I gasp. I look ahead and I run. I run and freedom is kissing my face. Flowing past me is all the silly things that bind me. I run for my insecurites. I run for my non acceptance of my sheer greatness. I run for a family that I felt should have guided me more in life. I run for those days when i've not been able to eat. I run for my pride that wouldn't allow me to ask for help. I run for being an embarassment. I run for hating myself. I run for giving myself to men in order to understand beauty for increments of time. I run for ancestors whose lessons have shaped my life. I run for running when i get nervous. I run for being so damn needing of others. I run alone. The world around me is still frozen solid. The flow of life in me is not ending. I don't grow tired. My spirit not weary. My heart no longer hurt. I run. I stop at the top of a hill. And I laugh. I laugh with arms spread wide. My chest held high. I laugh and I scream. I recieve it. I recieve you. I recieve this. I laugh until tears stream down my face. I am OK. It's gonna be OK. I am OK. I am OK. I am OK. I AM LOVED. I AM LOVE. I turn and run as if fire is attached to my hills. I run so quickly that I fail to notice that the world around me has recaptured breath. And following me, trailing me is the beautiful sound of LIFE. I hear and feel life behind me, but slowly catching up with me and surrounding me.

I run so quickly that my feet lift off the ground. I hover above stairs, I pass through the apt below me, through the floorboards and re-enter myself. My head floats without the heaviness of before and as my gaze shifts from floor to the computer desk to the computer screen, I breathe. My hands raise and hover above the keypad for a second before typing...

Today I accept life and I'm okay. And today,I know, I can make it without you and this and everything is the world can throw to me. I am loved.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

a BOY story

Here's the story of a little boy who spent hours resting in a window looking out dreaming blankly; seeing. A boy who spent minutes tracing the indentions left on his arm from the sill. A boy who spent hours in a mirror singing to himself. Who created poems about crickets. Who showered for hours just to have alone time. A story of a little boy obsessed with smelling pretty because he wanted to be like his mommy. A little boy who labored hours upon hours to be good in sports to keep his daddy smiling. A little boy who lied so his sister never got punished. A trusting one who ate mudpies at her request. A small one that could sit for hours beside his grandma and not say anything just stealing glances as she looked away, never talking really-listening, laughing, and learning and staring. A little boy who pinned clotheshangers to his shirt so as his mother did the laundry he could be her very special helper. A boy who peered around corners and cupped his ears to hear what the adults were saying and what kind of music his dad was listening to-he later would remember that music and listen carefully to remember his dad's smell when he was no longer around. This is a slight story about a boy who remembered thinking he could kiss the clouds whenever the swing went high enough. A little lad who, to this day, can feel his grandmothers fingertips on the small on his back. Who could close his eyes and still hear her singing- a sound that he would miss more than anything in this whole world. A child who laughed at everything and rarely cried at anything. A kid who played football by himself for hours, who probably to the masses looked like he was bat shit crazy. A boy who started every morning with a song in his heart and ended every evening with a lullaby on his lips. This is a story of an alone child. A kid who lived, laughed, sang, danced and dreamed-alone. Surrounded by others he was physically never left, yet his heart always felt such solitude. A blessing and a curse. The gift to entertain himself and the need to constantly be surrounded was his downfall.
He later decided that misfortune would not be his. He took his freedom and chased a dream and stared at stars and kissed the heavens at yellow lights and always smiled. Sometimes sorry weighed heavy behind his brown eyes. But who has time for that he thought, so he continued to smile. He continued to hurt, but most importantly, he'd smile. He grew tired. One night a star told him everything was gonna be alright as it twinkled above his first apartment during a time when the sorry was winning the battle in his eyes. A tear clouded his eye and cleansed his soul and he took a breath and heard a song and smelled comfort and rested patiently.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010


Picture this: Lincoln Center. Newly renovated. Green everywhere. A peace that quiets even the bzzz of the bees. The sun is kissing my face, the spring breeze is tickling my neck and a light roar comes from the reflective pool in front of me. In the distance I see Julliard. On my cheek I feel the hot warmth of a tear. I trace it's voyage pore by pore as it exits my ducts and descends, to where I don't know, but the journey is slow and warming. To most people this building is just that-a building. To me this building is a city block of my young dreams. Cement blocks of hope. Windows that look into the future. A structure that captured all of my sent prayers and kept them secret. All I've ever dreamed....and yet I stand on the outside looking in, dreams silenced, reality proves yet again that she has won.

My obsession with dance started early. I remember always dancing in circles in my room. No one there but me and music. I remember stopping dead in my tracks if anybody on TV was doing something more advance than walking. I would wrap a sheet around my little waist and become a ballerina. I'd put a stick in my mouth and be an african dancer. I'd put bottle caps on the bottom of my sneakers, my mother HATED this, and move my feet really fast like I was tapping. Oh, what a mess. Oh, how I begged to be in class. We couldn't afford it. That was that. The next week I joined every show choir, glee club, botany team...anything just hoping that I could learn something.(there was a cute guy in the botany class...don't judge) Eventually I got really good. Dance captain for the show choir and glee club, I even choreographed a musical in junior year. The most exciting part was that freshmen year a friend's father saw my passion for dance and became my sponsor and enrolled me in tap, ballet, and modern! With my passion for dance and good training...I picked it up quickly. My teacher said I needed more intense training and she suggested some programs and of them, Julliard.

Long story short...I went and auditioned! They said I had good technique, the passion was there, but I was fat. What I failed to mention was that I had started to gain weight when I was 11 and could never lose it. I worked hard, my technique was good, I was just, well fat. That three letter word devestated me. I stopped dancing for a great while. I stopped loving myself. I overate to deal and gained 60lbs in doing so. I hated myself for being me. I've recently rediscovered my love for dance. The passion never left me. The joy took a seat on the back burner. My belief in people did go. I was confused as to how someone whose world was dance could destroy the dreams of a fellow dancer. Maybe I'm not as resolved with this issue as I had hoped. I zip up my bag, I look down at my that's where the tear landed. I wipe the spot, throw my chin up and keep it moving. Sometimes consistently fighting the opposition is tiring and so you resolve to let it just be. and it's done.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Indecent Exposure my ass!

Here's the thing...

They got me again girl! Those damn park cops have a bounty on my head and some sort of free ham everytime they arrest me. At this point next years holiday season is covered. I'll set it all up for you and allow you to make any conclusion you want!

Picture this:
A sensible mid morning dew rising off the grass. The sun kissing the clouds away. A backpack. An Ipod. Short shorts a bare chest. Got it so far. Now hear this: birds chirping. The soothing lull of the river waves smacking against the pier, a faint laugh of a child, the piercing sound of "Ma'am could you please put your shirt back on? You are not allowed to be topless in this park"

See: Rage and Disbelief

See: A damn cop hovering over me..repeating the exact same phrase found in the paragraph above.

I said sorry? he said ma'am! I said i'm a boy. He said and i'm the fucking pope. I said well hi fucker, how bout you stop touching kids. He said...well nothing he just hit me in the head with a nearby bucket.

I said. ow!

As he put me in handcuffs my man tits slung left to right, up and down. He said indecent exposure and i said why because I was sunning my man pancakes. He said, yes!

Honey a girl can't get a break! At least during my incarceration i'll get that prison!
Oh Vay!

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


Outside crumpled cigarettes pollute the sidewalk, kissing the seams that connect stability. My gaze hovers over them and fixates on an iron bar. Protecting seedlings, strongholding danger, it stands dark and strong. Earth releases it's brilliance and green shines through. Bright. In this bleak neighborhood it fights it. Light. Dreaming. Twisted.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Hot Mess

picture this....
a green leaf. a purple flower. some blue water. white sand. a naked booty.

Now picture this....a stream of hot piss coming flying at your face. Can you see it? Cause I didn't! My little nephew, the precious asshole, pissed right in my eye right as I was changing him. I was in shock, usually when that happens I've at least asked for it and I know it's about to,(awkward for you) but body temperature liquid flying at your face in a fast, intense pace is not what I liked to think of as the most amazing way to spend a saturday nite....with a child. Needless to say, I was humored but a little pissed....pun intended!

The moist one,
Plussize Twink

Sunday, April 18, 2010

The Drink Got me Thru....

So i stand here, barefoot in basketball shorts, tights hug my thighs a loose Wham tshirt hangs daintily off my shoulders and a mirror is staring back at me. At this point my mind is a racing. Why am i standing here in, yet again, another dance call. Why did i wake up at 4:30 this morning praying and hoping that this Joseph call will allow Joseph to have a dark skin thick brother.

Friday, February 5, 2010

No Fats or Fems...shit

There is no phrase that I've ever read that makes me want to pluck my eyes out more in my life than: No Fats or Fems.


There are two types of people in this world: Fat and Non Fat people! The battle between the two are way past the most intense dance off in West Side Story!
I've often overheard, whilst walking down the street or sitting in a synagogue, people discussing important daily facts about the plus size or fat people in their lives.
"Marty, some people say more cushion for the pushin'!" "If there was a plane crash we would have a buffet off of your ass alone, ha!""Tamela, I bet you he floats good!"" I did my taxes on the 25Th of April."( that last statement just goes to prove that sometimes people aren't really listening to the conversation but just always willing to cosign)but I digress.

Everyone loves having a fat best friend, it's comfortable. Think about it, you've always got some body who makes you feel less guilty about eating that pepperoni pizza and that tub of ben and jerry's. I mean what are they gonna say, really? And we too understand our roles in the world. As a a plus size person I understand that I have many functions in relationships. I can serve as a buffer to someone coming out, I can be a date for a wedding, I am inevitably the surprise entertainment at any function (cause we're all funny) and I am always the go to for a great nite out on the town. See getting used to this concept will throw you if you've always been on the outside looking in, like I was before the slip and slide backslash life changing vomit track meet.


Dear gay men, life is not a real porn. Not every gay man is a tool belt wearing, fresh out of the Caribbean, macho acting, barry white voiced, foreign god of ecstasy.I bet half of those men are high pitched lisped challenged booty shorts midriff shirt wearing home decorating gays from Staten Island. They are putting on an act, like most of us do. Why, I will never know. There is nothing wrong with being fem. I know the common statement is if i wanted a woman i would have been with one,well let's be honest gentlemens, w omen won't let you drive down their hershey highway. And in the end, isn't that all that matters?(Get it, that was a joke!) Yet again, I digress. Your sexuality is your own. The most beautiful thing about being a gay man is that you have the choice, without any pretense, to enjoy both sides of the spectrum. You can watch a lacrosse match in stilettos and lipstick and have the time of your life. And no judgements,at least not from me.

We have too much division within our culture. Just because I'm fat doesn't mean that I'm not healthy, it means I may have just inherited whale genes from an obese grandfather and just because I'm a little fem doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying the great things about being purely masculine. Let's open up our minds, like we beg everyone else to do, and start finding the beauty in everybody.

Plussize Twink Out

Monday, February 1, 2010

Picture this....

A side ponytail. Dangling red earrings. Pink stilettos. A floral wrap dress. Inhale the sweet intoxication of cinnamon raisin oatmeal and rose perfume. Close your eyes and hear a melody deeply enriched in sunshine and dreams and prayers and pain. Listen very closely and you can even hear a slight giggle. Remember being able to see eye to eye with the doorknob and remember how huge you thought this sweet woman was who kissed you too much and held you too close and hugged you for too long and who stared at you while you slept and remember uttering the words, mama. These are some of my first memories of her.
Mama, i say over and over again, she turns and just smiles and simply says, "Hey puddin!" She turns back around and I wobble to her, I fall and look up to her immediately, she doesn't react, so I keep going. I catch her and I hold on to dear life. At her leg I feel safe and supported. I feel the smoothness of her skin, I inhale and remember the beauty of cocoa butter, and I feel my spit fall out my mouth and run down her leg and she says, "What are you doing, puddin?" I think at this moment, nothing is better than this. Before I know it I'm soaring through the air, and I laugh, oh I laugh so hard and she laughs and I laugh. Her face flies towards mine and mine towards hers and again and again until I'm nestled in her warm place between her arms. And she holds me there and we both take time to catch our breaths. I've gotten tired and a close my eyes and I rest. A fast thump beats in my ear and as it slows a hum fills the little holes on the side of my head. My little thump matches my mamas and I am fast asleep. I rest well because I know that when I wake up, she'll be right there to greet me. Smiling. Humming. Waiting. I like this lady. I can't wait to play with her again. As I fall deeper in sleep, angels float in front of my eyes and I giggle with them. The Big Man talks again and I laugh at his roar and before you know it, it's morning. The smile greets me again and i giggle, stretch and I blink.

Dear Weight Loss, you're RUDE

Today I was staring in the mirror, naked as the day I was born, surveying the ever changing campus that is my body, when I noticed the rudeness by which my fat is moving. I suck my stomach in, I almost pass out. I poke my belly out, I almost pass out, I make a muscle, I almost pass out, I'm thinking I should really take some breathing courses. I look from head to toe and do sort of a mental inventory. Face: more structured. Neck: slimmer. Shoulders: a lil more defined. Waist: smaller. Thighs: toner. Ass: higher and juicier (yes!!!) Man tits: OUT OF CONTROL.

Here's the thing: I know that God has a sense of humor: He created me! I believe after resting on the 7th day, He had a lot of built up cabin fever and said let me create something to make me giggle, and there I was. Now, I have somehow obtained, from the Big Guy, a perfect hourglass figure, a football player's height and thickness, a 40 year old woman's booty, and a young 18 year old's supple boobs, and a pleasant man surprise betwixt my legs. I can't grow facial hair rapidly and I'm perfectly hairless with a high voice and my mothers cheek bones: if you add all that up, you get perfect tranny! I may or may not have questioned my mother as to whether or not I had sexual reassignment surgery in my youth. She said: What's a reassignment? I said: You dumb, bitch! (...and that was the last time we spoke and the last time I had my own natural teeth)

I said all that to say this: Because of all these factors: I lose weight differently then most men. My shoulders slim, my waist does too, and i guess I've built up pecs in my workouts, therefore, the plump of the muscle underneath combined with the jiggle on top equals an increase of size from slightly embarrassing mounds to out right offensive cleavage. This has all been done in the name of weight loss and I personally, will forever and ever, call her a rude homeless trick!

I'll keep on trucking towards my goal of physical perfection but if this madness continues, fully expect a double mastectomy!

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Name on everybody's lips is gonna be...


Here's the thing....
Today I just got back from an audition for Cats. Yes, I said Cats, and let's just say it did NOT go the way I had planned. Back in my day, whilst still in dancer body, I fancied myself to be quite the dancer. Maybe in my mind that's how I still see myself, maybe my body is in a direct fight with my mind, maybe I should just stop saying maybe. The main point is I'm not the lead pussy that I thought I was.

The combo started with a simple double pirouette into a switch leap followed by a tilt pullback. Nothing major right? I would like to take uno momento (that's Spanish for "a moment") to say only those freaky Russians with no body fat and who have trained since they were three months old could pull that off, but let me tell you, I danced it like my name was least I thought I did. Here's the thing about perception: you see yourself doing it one way and sometimes your body says, in direct conflict, "Hey down there, we actually can't do this" but we fight her and we wind up injured. Like now.

Needless to say I went in full force. Now the image of a 300 lb man leaping in air can be majestic or outright frightening. You either clap or you grab the kids and head for the hills. There were no kids injured during this dance call! The pirouette was fine, the switch leap is when disaster 2010 began. Instead of a leap it was a hop and instead of a switch it was more a twig. I may or may not have snagged another dancer on the way down. I lost footing, popped a hamstring and i'm pretty sure one of my balls is still floating under the producer's table.

I write to you know from the comfort of my couch with a heating pad, a glass of wine, half of a prescribed something, and a prayer. I was injured and injured bad.

To all my peeps out there, reach for the stars and if you can't reach them: Don't leap.

Twink out!


Here's the thing....
A few days ago while walking down the street I slipped on dog poo. Sounds gross, right? It was. Even more gross was the fact that it wasn't just a slip but a full out fall in the disgusting mound of mutilated kibbles and bits and left over dog chow. To my surprise I didn't scream or swear or throw my tambourine in the air, I laughed. I must have looked like a slap happy silly kid. What else could I have done. There I laid in a trench coat, a new Prada knock off boot and my new pleather lane bryant slacks covered in number 2. All I could think was....shit happens!