Towanda Knows my Secret – Chapter 3

 

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There are five places of interest in Skanklin.  The eat while you watch cinema, the two dollar store .  

Two dollar stores are real!  I like real.  Let’s face it.  Nothing useful is made for the cost of one single dollar.  It takes at least two bucks to purchase a high quality vitamin!

Beyond the cinema and the ‘store’, there is the Gandhi-Mart and Catholic Used and Cheap thrift store, there is, Mr. B. Got.  Mr. B. Got is a liquidator.  If you need a magic eraser, a door stopper or a can of beer from India, the B is the place to go. Of

course, there is the other ulterior motive.  There is Angel!  Angel is no an angel.  She is coarse like a piece of fine sandpaper.  Her voice?  Like a drunken sailor on leave.  And, her smile tells of a life lead by lust and cookie dust!  I have been in love with Angel since the day she rolled into town.  Or, better put, got towed into town.  Her Harley up on its pegs, looked like a jaded and broken mechanical horse.  Angel, and her bike, had blown a gasket.  And, until the day comes when the one only bike shop in town locates Angel’s ancient Harley and it’s blown part, the angel will remain in my heart and in Skanklin.

Glorious day!  Angel provided me with not only a notebook.  She provided me with the most sought after item in my world, her phone number.

I easily could have gone to the cheaper store.  I most likely could have found a couple of pieces of slightly used paper within my house.  But once smitten twice pushy!  I jump at every opportunity I can to witness the Angel in action.

“Is that it, honey?  Whatcha planning on writing?”

don’t go to fast but I go pretty far!

Words dripping with confidence and sex.  I had been ridiculed by many friends.  Harassed and bullied by acquaintances who knew of my crush.  Every single one of them pissing in my Wheaties with,

“She ain’t no dyke!”

I have been known, back in my drinking days, to turn many a straight gal.  I have also been seen running nearly naked through a few bar parking lots.  Running like there would be no tomorrow from the irate husbands.  All it takes is time and patience and I will get me a live Angel.vanity plate 7

“I’d like to see your number in there, but  I don’t see it.  How much more for the notebook with the number in it?,” had been my reply.

Of course, Angel had smirked that knowing and self confident twitch of the lip.  She took a pen from her breast pocket, nodded at me and jotted something on the inside cover of my newly purchased notebook:

“For a good time, call, Angel, 604-369-1289”

Fuck those townies.  Screw all those straight and straight- laced pinheads down at Bunny’s Shave’ n Wet.  I got the coveted number!

That friggin’ class.  Tonight should be the night for learning about ridden hard and hung up wet women named Angel.  Tonight should not be the night to stuff the mounting sexual frustration.  The same frustration that tends to pent up bad thoughts.  The same boxed negative feelings that, you guessed it, causes, anger.

I kissed Towanda good- night, I told Bogart he was to be in charge of the feline brood,  kick started the ancient moped and headed down to the Unitarian church.  Right around dusk, my town is different than any other town in the States.  It glows neon and fades a dusty red in the rear-view mirror.  The patrons of Skanklin stroll by holding hands and reminiscing about recent factories that have shut down.  Out of nowhere, my small town is bearable and bright and something you dream about.stella

 

Move Over Pasta, Let ’em eat Chik-Fil-A instead

Barilla said: “For us the concept of the sacred family remains one of the basic values of the company. I would not do it but not out of a lack of respect for homosexuals who have the right to do what they want without bothering others … [but] I don’t see things like they do and I think the family that we speak to is a classic family.”

Dear MoveOn member,

My family, and especially my 12-year-old son, eats a lot of pasta—and my wife and I have often chosen Barilla Pasta because of the wide variety available at our local grocery store.

No more. Yesterday, Barilla Pasta President Guido Barilla made it clear how he felt about families like mine by saying that he’d never show gay families in advertisements for Barilla. He said that gays “can go eat someone else’s pasta” if they didn’t like his message.1

I’m taking him up on that and so should you. Sign the petition to tell Guido Barilla that you stand with gay families and won’t buy Barilla.

That’s why I started a petition to the Barilla Pasta company, which says:

Barilla Pasta President Guido Barilla’s statement that he’d never consider showing gay families in his advertisements is outrageous. I’m supporting gay families by boycotting Barilla Pasta.

Click here to add your name to this petition, and then pass it along to your friends.

Thanks!

–Beth Allen

 

RandomwordbyRuth editorial response to Pasta:

 

There are many certainties in life:

People who receive a license after the age of thirty should stay home and watch Dr. Phil and leave the ‘real’ driving to the text hungry teenagers.

The straightest line between an Irish woman cooking an authentic Italian meal is a quick stop at the bathroom that has earth friendly reading material.

Lesbians can’t dance and gay men cannot wear flannel.

It is unfortunate that Barilla along with Chick-Fil-A and the Salvation ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ Army have found themselves in a pot of boiling angry lesbian and pissed of queers stew!

That being said, however, the other certainty in rainbow land?

No self respecting metero-sexual and/or gay male would be caught out of the closet divulging on a plate of carbs!  For that matter, most lesbians prefer a hungry gal’s meal: mashed potato and ketchup with a big slab of carnivore delights on the side.

Research shows that we are all too big for our britches anyway.  Most of us coming in with a B.M.I. of two tons past healthy weight.

Who will be next?

Rumor has it Alec Baldwin and Paula Deen will be co-hosting a new made for homophobic cracker’s TV talent show: STRAIGHT TALK

those damn peace loving pasta eating homosexuals

 

 

An Ambien Knock Off

Did not I cast the first stone  And then justify the blame
Did not I cast the first stone
And then justify the blame

What if I came at you with such loose labels as; fag, dyke, nigger, towelhead?
Where did the labels and the name calling begin? Does it sit with me, a woman deemed by many to have no soul, a romantic vulture and/or a narcissist who is in it to win it?
Has my ego became so large that what seems like a Robin Hood idealism is nothing but a poorly painted shell without a psyche? Had I given into the thought of turning the tables? Helping a baby dyke with diaper changing? Allowed for a path to be shown and to which, every Ambien volunteer could veer right or left. Was the purposeful lesson of ‘dignity for all’ an idea that started from within and, slowing given the option to be drawn upon a photographer’s lens with no right or wrong picture…
Indeed, am I politically correct to consider my own kind denouncing ME and US by their own admission of ignorance and indifference a vagrant’s vain attempt of learning through osmosis?
Had I offered the nakedness of picture taking perfect as an easy out? A simplictic yes or no answer? A fourth grader’s mechanical choice of right or wrong?
Because my spotted calf had chosen what sat behind door number one, homophobic lesbianism,on her own…she personally went about slicing the throats of all who walked a similar beat. A decision made for the sake of ‘the highest reward’ a parent’s grace.
Had all the obvious roads not taken been made more childlike, a toddler would have sat in my bed. But that was not the case.
If there is not an equation set before the dumbfounded and confused what there ever be an answer? And,, does anyone have the right to choose our rights by ignoring the hard-earned paths of others.
Philanderer, philosopher or plain old, sex fiend…I suppose that would be a tough call.
Yet, when the offer of an open door policy is erected within the rules of couple-dom, is it not the choice that makes us moral or not?
I have decided this:
To an extent to which there have been so much bullying by indifference that a Pavlov’s Dog needed to come to life.
I hung the treat in front of the young and naïve subject’s mouth and offered reward and/or punishment.
How can it be when given these options there is no right or wrong, just a simple and complete means to an end:
Choosing to work legitimately as most adults do/ Opting to work without acknowledgement of tax and therefore, indeed taking food from the mouths of the poor.
AmeriCorps/VISTA/FEMA exploiting the good nature of her republic by ignoring the simple facts; partying, dancing, karaoke, free housing and 24/7 access to social media versus: volunteering without pay for the sake of volunteering without need for reward other than self fulfillment.
Opting to choose the consequences of our behavior and/or hiding behind labels and faulty advertisement and hidden surnames.
We all have choices!
Point of the matter, the lack of prayer in the classroom, the distance between war and peace, the hatred for each other that derives itself from an unknown origin, all stems from our own ability to evade the choice which maybe difficult. The ulterior motives in all of us, once laid out like a fresh turd on a hot’s summer’s day is our downfall.
The Ambien’s, the Annie‘s, the Brittany‘s and the Jeremy‘s of our nation’s newest real reality show are but simple knock offs. For it is far easier to fashion one’s self to difference than proclaim the choice ourselves

we are only what our choices allow us to be
we are only what our choices allow us to be

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