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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Location: California, United States

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Built Ford Tough

This dyke resides someplace I swore I would never go. That is, San Diego's own version of Redneck Country, otherwise known as east county. Mine is a little burg in a cluster of little burgs that used to be farmland. Probably closer to the mountains than it is to the ocean, this area is white man's cowboy country.

To be sure, the Yuppies and gentrification are encroaching. There are 4 Starbucks stores within a comfortable driving distance. There is the suburban shopping center with a Barnes & Noble, a Target, a Pier One, a Blockbuster and a Hollywood Video. Conspicuous consumerism lives even where the Aryan Nation skulks in the shadows.

As I pulled into my supermarket parking lot this afternoon in my modest Nissan Sentra sedan, I found a cozy spot between 2 gigundo Ford F 150's. To my left was a white monster. To my right a navy blue. And as I looked in my rear view mirror what to my wondering eyes did appear but a grey Ford F 150.

I have to tell you I cannot stand those huge trucks and SUV's that are eating up the highways and blocking my view. But there isn't much I can do to get rid of them. They're bigger than me.

Fer godsake boys! Put it back in yer PANTS!

Coming back out of the store, I lost my bearings because my iron guards had left me. But just as I spied my car and strolled toward it, I was horrified to see a 40 something woman in a gigundo light blue Ford F150 attempting to squish the behemoth between my car and the one on the other side of the empty spot.

I stood frozen to the pavement for a full 3 minutes as she pulled in, backed out, pulled in, and backed out. All the while her eyes showed amazement and her mouth made a little red O.

Feminism and cute bumper stickers aside. This was her husband's truck. When the woman stepped down from the truck, she was wearing the requisite velour jogging suit with a sadly poor fit and she displayed that swaybacked walk of someone who just dismounted her horse.

I left secure in the knowledge that despite the benign suburban veneer, I am indeed living in Redneck Country.

Kinja, the weblog guide


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