I want a tan line under my Titty

Summer 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 heres, she's queers. Get used to her! OK, henny!
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 if'n you got it, flaunt it. I enjoy the summer rays just as much as the next guy but when you are a plussize 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 Capri showing my good cankle, perhaps a mid drift loosely covered in burlap....i mean it's the little things right.
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, oooohhh miss thing...ok henny, 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 I've 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.
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 soo daaamn formal, but that's her, my liver-the bitch. I mean how many times do I need to apology.
I also apologize to my mani/pedi 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 "aljdojoeohbdnonldojndohjn" At which point I say"OK", and just leave a big tip. Then one time she said "aljdoljldjdgojljgojjgp;jjpj'g" and I said, " I don't know what the fuck you've said, but I can call immigration and i'm not afraid. And she said " ". Sue Kim always comes over for my birthday parties.
I'm so excited for the lazy, hot days of summer. More to come peeps, more to come.

My 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
My lungs fought complacency 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 laid 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.

Tasers, Knives and Eyebrow Gel

You 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.

I'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.
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.
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.
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.

I.love.being.Southern.

Imma 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. Okrrrrrr!
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.
Welcome to NYC, home of big words, concrete, homeless people, high taxes and hustle.

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 best friend 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 Eighth and saw my first live singing drag queen and thus began my obsession with those ladies with duck tape 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.

THE MEN OF NYC....
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 Mexican and two Asian families, who owned both the Chinese spots and the dry cleaners...no lie. So imagine when I got here and was introduced to the South Africans, the Greeks, The Dominicans, 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.

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 noisy 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 tobacco. 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.

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.

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.