tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71359787460876266522024-03-07T21:02:32.862-08:00ConfessionsofaPlusSizeTwinkLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-19432047682747360732011-06-06T06:55:00.000-07:002011-06-06T07:54:35.560-07:00I want a tan line under my TittySummer is running up on a bitch at a real rude, quick pace. Child I just glanced behind me and saw that Summer, with her common hot ass, has taking out Winter and Spring with a headlock and a knuckle sandwich. So needless to say: She's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">heres</span>, she's queers. Get used to her! OK, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">henny</span>!<br />Summer is to the gays what tequila is to Mexicans...a lot! The first day that the weather reaches 52, bare testicles are sliding down the sidewalks with fierce sunglasses. I mean I believe that sometimes we jump the gun with the nakedness but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">if'n</span> you got it, flaunt it. I enjoy the summer rays just as much as the next guy but when you are a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">plussize</span> twink, you have to be inventive with your exposure. I mean, I was once told that a lady leaves a little bit on her plate, so in that same respect, a lady leaves a little to the imagination. I choose to expose my chocolate skin in a flash of collarbone, a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Capri</span> showing my good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">cankle</span>, perhaps a mid drift loosely covered in burlap....i mean it's the little things right.<br />The traditional summer activities are what keeps my imagination going during the long New York winters. Tanning, Beaching, Drinking, Drinking, and well, shit I can't front...Drinking. Now you may be wondering, why the hell do you tan when you are the color of dusk? I'll tell you why. It allows me to be nude in public and not get arrested and have to register in yet one more neighborhood. My social security number is tired. That's right folks I'm that bitch that you see at the beach that shouldn't be wearing what she's wearing. You may even find your self saying...You go, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">oooohhh</span> miss thing...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ok</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">henny</span>, she better do it. Right that's me, just a chocolate statue of curves and subtle soft skin. But just like my other counterparts I got to make sure i don't have tan lines, but I look forward to my tan line under my titty every year...it's my marker that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">I've</span> done good, and isn't that all that we want to here..I mean we want to hear that and that we don't have skin cancer by titty tan line always is JUST fine. P.s. The darker I am, the whiter my teeth look.<br />Every year during this time I write a formal apology, on thick hard paper, to my liver. I say things like sorry I woke up and drank four bottles of champagne for brunch and that my night cap was a bottle of Johnny Walker...and that even when I'm suppose to be hydrating you...there are truly vodka ice cubes in my glass, it never responds back. I find the silence to speak volumes. We tend to speak again in Winter, but even then it's just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">soo</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">daaamn</span> formal, but that's her, my liver-the bitch. I mean how many times do I need to apology.<br />I also apologize to my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">mani</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">pedi</span> lady. I know our first visit will be rough, but I promise it gets so much better as the summer continues. We have both discussed this over the years. I always tell her, Sue Kim, it's rough the first time cause we are getting rid of the Winter toe. And she always responds "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">aljdojoeohbdnonldojndohjn</span>" At which point I say"OK", and just leave a big tip. Then one time she said "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">aljdoljldjdgojljgojjgp</span>;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">jjpj'g</span>" and I said, " I don't know what the fuck you've said, but I can call immigration and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">i'm</span> not afraid. And she said " ". Sue Kim always comes over for my birthday parties.<br />I'm so excited for the lazy, hot days of summer. More to come peeps, more to come.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-26713489852085476412011-05-18T10:28:00.000-07:002011-05-18T11:09:46.141-07:00My Song...That song is old y'all. It just keeps skipping and skipping and damaging and running and skipping and stopping. That song is so old. That needle has dug in the same groove over and over again. The song stopped. The music silenced. The heart still talks.<br />The silence tickled me a little. I got so comfortable in it. So comfortable. I snuggled up, ran my fingers gently across it's back, and nuzzled my nose in it's neck.<br />The sunrise kissed my room. It warmed the sill, danced across my floor, hugged my comforter and lovingly wrapped its' arms around me. The heart still spoke.<br />I awoke and shook off night. I fought it's sadness. I greeted mornings song. My body yearned for it and shook and my sex was excited to see what new could be heard today. My ears tuned to the jungle thump of my heart. Oh and I stirred. The heart dances.<br />It started with an ankles twitch, a finger snapping, a blinking eye and a smile. Oh that smile. That not dead sound erupted from my cavities, that not dead sound, rooted in a new song, resounded so loudly. It shook my core so much that my eyes, dark, heavily silenced eyes, took their place in the dance and began to release water joy down my cheeks. My hair curled to the song, my heart danced.<br />My lungs fought <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">complacency</span> and forced life back into me. I stomped my feet. I grabbed earth and crumpled newness between my fingers and under my nails. My water joy tickled the ground and she seemed to smile. My fingers and palms met over and over again while fighting meter and restraint. I began to turn. My arms resisted gravity no more and with chest high, arms splayed, I let the air kiss my hot skin. I let the air nibble my neck. I let the air whisper to me. I spun and spun. The sun above. The chilled newness below. I closed my eyes and that's when I heard it. The new song. Oh that song, so new. So fresh. So gentle. So not afraid or worn or ragged, not skipping, not stopping. Damn that record was so beautiful. The air <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">laid</span> the tune in my ears. And my heart spoke-it's you...it's always been in you...you are afraid of it...you have to want it...you have to own your strength...you have to put you first...you have to never let someone make you doubt your song...you are beautiful...and somebody is gonna love you...i promise you this....look and fight for your joy. Today I walk away humming a melody like no other. My heart. My dance. My song.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-29988833661766896282011-04-04T08:23:00.000-07:002011-04-04T09:12:31.201-07:00Tasers, Knives and Eyebrow GelYou know it's hard out here for a pimp. We must always be prepared for whatever life throws our way and that is why I always carry around my taser, a sensible knife and my tube of eyebrow gel. What? Lol. When you are a fabulous person livin' and thrivin' in Harlem you must be prepared. The mean cold streets may have warmed up a tiny bit, but they can be cruel nonetheless. It was a windy, familiar Wednesday morning when it happened. Spring had slowly began to dip her head from behind Winters ass and a bird chirped in the distance. I knew that it was gonna be a great day and I knew I would have the chance to debut my new look.(see tres excitment all about my face) To rewind a bit, a few months prior, I picked up a sensible, non-abrasive pink pair of shorts, a polka dot boatshoe and a new deep V from Lane Bryant in anticipation of Springs return and thanks to a spring like temp of 72, I could wear this look. So there I am slightly sashaying down 125, Barbara Streisand in my ear, cocoa butter and Hermes on my skin, not a care in the world when suddenly an unwelcomed, nervous chill came o'er my body. Well naturally I yelped and jumped.(sidenote: this may or not have been seen as a spectacle. i mean i'm only a slight 6'3", 300lbs in hot pink shorts, but it looks normal right, no cause for alarm, right?...I digest!) I pull my earbuds out, palm the taser in my m'urse and continue walking. I hear a rustling, I speed up. My heart beats just a wee bit faster. The rustle occurs again and before you know i'm hop walking down the street, one could liken it to a skip, and if that's the case it was a masculine skip. The "skip with masculine tendacies" turns into a full sprint and the following is still happening: rustling and roaring, crackin and fear. I'm out of breath and and while i'm gathering my strength to face whatever it is, I pause a moment to reapply chapstick and a swipe of eyebrow gel- 'Cause if'n i'm dying its gonna be glamorous. I look up to see the offender staring in my face. It was a damn rat! The fucker was following me cause he smelled the bourbon or the half of breakfast i had in my bag. But just like everything else in NYC the rat was gangster. I clapped my hands it didn't move, i did a highschool stomp routine -it didn't move. So I tasered the bitch, he moved then...straight on to glory.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-81624850111968512322011-03-02T11:02:00.000-08:002011-03-02T11:46:55.543-08:00I'm not meant to be alone, turn this house into a home.I'm sitting in, trying to listen to my silence. It wrote a song that I have not been able to shake. A damn melodic line that sticks in my ear and haunts me. Humming? I often wonder if anybody else can hear it. Can you see this song do a dance in me? Sometimes it makes me frown. It makes cry.It steals my voice. It makes me cuddle up and want to sleep for days. It makes my toe tap and keeps my knees bouncin'. It makes me feel inadequate. It's lonely. There is no harmony to this song for it stands alone. Sometimes we hear things that draws us in...that tickles our fancy-a baby's giggle, a rustling leaf, the ocean. Then we hear things that we can live without-you're not good enough, he will come, you can't do it. Nonetheless, both are songs. Both to which are ears are tuned to hear.<br />I struggle daily with loneliness. Granted there are plenty of people in this world who love me unconditionally: as friends. I don't think I can ever truly express how grateful my friend loves in my life are. They are loves that will feed me when I'm hungry, tickle me when I'm sad, cuss me out when I've been drinkin and listen to me when I need it. These loves are beautiful and perfect; loves that I wish for in a partner. BUT, I want a him. I want somebody who is wild about me. Who thinks that my body is sexy. That my lips are something he thinks about all day long while he's working. I'm looking for a him to book vacations with, to take home to the South. To hear him snore in the night is what delight seems to me. I want a wedding day.<br />The journey to find my mister right and the harmony to my new song has many steps -i'm well aware. I often fight with the phrase that he will come in time. At what time? How much longer in this life do I have to go without it? Am I not loving myself enough? And by being fixated on the fact that I am alone , am I doing myself a disservice? I don't want to be jaded when he gets here and I don't want him to have all the pressure of having to be my ideal man.. definetly not fair for him. Over the years I have had to learn to protect myself. I've built my personality, i've worked my career, I wake everyday and hype myself up so that I remain open and honest and willing to love and yet, well i'm still waiting.<br />I grew up a fat kid with bad skin. I was poor. I struggled in school sometimes and yet i've made it to where I am today. I didn't have the beautiful rites of passages like first girlfriends or dates or a first kiss that mattered, I served the purpose of being everyone's funny friend. Funny people are human too and need the same things the everybody else does. I don't know what I'm gonna do in this life, but I am a person who is a lover by nature and needs his prince to come and share this wacky life with me. I hear you silence but I believe, with my eyes closed real tight, that there is a new song taht i'm longing to hear.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-3332588869493445542011-02-14T17:27:00.000-08:002011-02-14T18:30:25.896-08:00I.love.being.Southern.<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Imma</span> say this shit loud and clear: I love being Southern. People say why do you love such a backwards, inbred, ignorant place and I say: kiss my ass? I mean isn't that just a natural response to someone who tries to disrespect the thing you love so much. I say give me a home where the toothless bitches roam. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Okrrrrrr</span>!<br /> Almost six years ago I made a decision to leave the South and move to NYC and I knew then that a part of me would never be the same again. It's THAT part of me that is making me write today.<br /> Welcome to NYC, home of big words, concrete, homeless people, high taxes and hustle.<br /><br />Oh Lord, I hit the town running. My first day in NYC would pretty much shape the rest of my time here. I turn onto 42 from the Tunnel and my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">best friend</span> said, "Here you go Girl!" Next thing you know Billy Joel's Uptown Girl was blasting through the speakers as we headed up the West Side Highway. Later on that night I went to East of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Eighth</span> and saw my first live singing drag queen and thus began my obsession with those ladies with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">duck tape</span> and tracks with fierce background vocals and chords of steal. I can't complain, my time here in NYC has been fabulous. I have been surrounded by beautiful things and some wonderful experiences, but heart still belongs to the place of endless skies and beautiful earth kissing the bottom of my toes.<br /><br />THE MEN OF NYC....<br /> are and will continue to be my biggest weakness in this damn city. We did not have boys that looked them in NC. Diversity is a joke in the South. In my town there was Black, White and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Mexican</span> and two <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Asian</span> families, who owned both the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Chinese</span> spots and the dry cleaners...no lie. So imagine when I got here and was introduced to the South Africans, the Greeks, The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Dominicans</span>, and every other type of men. I went crazy. I was in heat. The heat soon wore off when I realized that finding a man to love you more than three hours became a little difficult. I just kept thinking did I really move all the way here to feel just as alone as I was in NC. I knew that because there were men who were out and about. Proud of who they were men, men without shame, men who moved to this same place for self expression and freedom; they were surely determine to couple and pair up and settle down like all the other models of families I remember seeing.<br /><br />Being invited to VIP events, the theater, fashion shows and premieres have all been great and beautiful. My journey has lead me to realize that they have also have made my head very cloudy and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">noisy</span> and they've also been very time consuming. I remember as a child when things were too busy, too loud, too grownup and scary to me, I ran to the outside. I could sit for hours by myself. Taking the Earth in between my toes, smelling the earth and getting so absolutely lost in a cloud floating above. I love the beautiful music and poetic beauty of a Southern dialect. How listening to your mother talk on the phone had the ability lull you to sleep. I love how the most important things in the world centered around family. How because of a little taste that your grandmother had in her mouth, dinner was shopped for and prepared before the sun was at it's highest place. I miss the gentle odor of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">tobacco</span>. I miss sitting on the front porch late in the night while waiting for the house to cool down just a little bit. I miss sitting close to adults and having them clothe you in wisdom and knowledge. People in the South aren't stupid or slow, we are a more simple people. We say what we need to say, when we need to say it. I miss it's beauty. I miss it's welcoming. I miss people being open and ready to give and receive love. There is a beautiful chamber in my heart that lights up when I see an open field or a blue sky. I sit alone a lot closing my eyes and trying to feel the embrace of the place that reared me and taught me life. Love you NC.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-49584314979771221262010-12-29T10:43:00.000-08:002010-12-29T11:33:23.988-08:00Frontin' the gasian frontierHere's the thing...<br />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.<br /><br />It all started back when...<br />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)<br />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.<br />In this section I will do a compare and contrast.<br /><br />Myths about G'Asians<br />G'asians can't drink...(false) <br />*Not only did he outdrink me but he challenged me to a game of beerpong with Sake*<br />G'asians are submissive...(false)<br />*After i got the rope from around my neck, and now that I can sit with ease: i can write with confidence-- <a href="mailto:F*@K">F*@K</a> what you heard. I still have to buy more Ben Gay!*<br />G'asians have small man parts...(...)<br /><br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-85003580620344617612010-11-08T11:33:00.000-08:002010-11-17T07:27:46.031-08:00Beautiully HumanI 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.<br /><br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-86369886696605697282010-10-06T11:33:00.000-07:002010-10-06T12:02:24.576-07:00.....if you can't love yourselfHow 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 are...it 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-65790085046969403142010-10-05T15:43:00.000-07:002010-10-05T16:10:20.482-07:00Skinny Bitch..you 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.<br /><br />Peacefully warm,<br />Plussize TwinkLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-19392867513966401322010-09-15T14:38:00.001-07:002010-09-15T15:11:12.486-07:00CoffeeIn 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 neighborhood...you 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 braided....at 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!<br /><br />love plussize twink,<br /><br />p.s. coffee makes you poo!!!!LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-41089690062944266042010-08-30T13:46:00.000-07:002010-08-30T14:43:44.850-07:00Man boobs. Summer Heat. A dreamQuestion: 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.<br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-82881669104061912172010-08-24T11:24:00.001-07:002010-08-24T12:16:32.879-07:00Drunk, Love, PeacePeople 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)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A little background.<br />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?<br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-33468530052219707472010-08-17T18:45:00.000-07:002010-08-17T18:54:17.149-07:00White PeachesToday 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.<br /> Today I sit here in the park, olive oil in my pores, Jennifer Hudson in my ear, thoughts running marathons in my head.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Love,<br />Plussize TwinkLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-12551644944874259292010-08-13T15:52:00.000-07:002010-08-13T16:13:07.256-07:00My passionIn 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-72489448587045416372010-08-02T10:45:00.000-07:002010-08-02T11:14:56.038-07:00Video of DeathSometimes 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-61798995806535967932010-07-30T12:55:00.000-07:002010-07-30T13:14:26.517-07:00Today 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:<br /><br />Friends:<br />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.<br /><br />Love,<br />MeLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-63583009154985909872010-07-28T09:05:00.000-07:002010-07-28T09:48:28.120-07:00BreathThe 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.<br /><br />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 breath..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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-60134713660440078042010-07-13T05:47:00.000-07:002010-07-17T13:29:44.685-07:00a BOY storyHere'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.<br />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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-65268992525485707572010-06-08T12:35:00.000-07:002010-06-08T13:35:43.304-07:00Crashing...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.<br /><br />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 schools...one of them, Julliard.<br /><br />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 thighs...so 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-39232149068839029472010-06-02T12:33:00.000-07:002010-06-02T12:52:46.326-07:00Indecent Exposure my ass!Here's the thing...<br /><br />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!<br /><br />Picture this:<br />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"<br /><br />See: Rage and Disbelief<br /><br />See: A damn cop hovering over me..repeating the exact same phrase found in the paragraph above.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I said. ow!<br /><br />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!<br /><br />Honey a girl can't get a break! At least during my incarceration i'll get that prison body...hot!<br /> Oh Vay!LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-53729036540302307542010-05-19T12:59:00.000-07:002010-05-19T13:15:56.385-07:00thoughtsOutside 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-57202422369523148262010-04-26T10:18:00.000-07:002010-04-26T10:27:28.006-07:00Hot Messpicture this....<br />a green leaf. a purple flower. some blue water. white sand. a naked booty.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />The moist one,<br />Plussize TwinkLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-6940198886631889202010-04-18T17:17:00.000-07:002010-04-18T23:08:03.558-07:00The Drink Got me Thru....<div>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.</div>LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-85733272963319510302010-02-05T16:06:00.000-08:002010-02-05T16:57:27.843-08:00No Fats or Fems...shitThere 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.<br /><br />No FATS<br /><br />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!<br />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.<br />"Marty, some people say more cushion for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pushin</span>'!" "If there was a plane crash we would have a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">buffet</span> off of your ass alone, ha!""<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Tamela</span>, I bet you he floats good!"" I did my taxes on the 25<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Th</span> 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.<br /><br />Everyone loves having a fat <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">best friend</span>, 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ben</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">jerry's</span>. 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">inevitably</span> the surprise entertainment at any function (cause we're all funny) and I am always the go to for a great <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nite</span> 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.<br /><br /> or FEMS<br /><br />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, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">barry</span> white voiced, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">foreign</span> god of ecstasy.I bet half of those men are high pitched lisped challenged booty shorts <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">midriff</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">gentlemens</span>, w omen won't let you drive down their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">hershey</span> 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.<br /><br />We have too much division within our culture. Just because <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">I'm</span> fat doesn't mean that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">I'm</span> not healthy, it means I may have just inherited whale genes from an obese grandfather and just because <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">I'm</span> a little fem doesn't mean that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">I'm</span> 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.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Plussize</span> Twink OutLarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7135978746087626652.post-68805377900010241782010-02-01T14:05:00.000-08:002010-02-01T14:37:00.416-08:00Picture 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.<br /> Mama, i say over and over again, she turns and just smiles and simply says, "Hey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">puddin</span>!" 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, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">puddin</span>?" 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">I'm</span> 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.LarryDarnellPennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18400794515564446757noreply@blogger.com1