Tina D'Angelo
Bio
I am a 70-year-old grandmother, who began my writing career in 2022. Since then I have published 6 books, all available on Barnes and Noble or Amazon.
BARE HUNTER, SAVE ONE BULLET, G-IS FOR STRING, AND G-IS FOR STRING: OH, CANADA
Stories (230)
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Every Breath I Take
It was early December in Ontario 1976, and the weather had been on and off rain and ice for the past few days. The 401 had been shut down between Toronto and Hamilton due to multiple wrecks and road conditions. It had also turned out to be a bad week for strippers in Ontario, as the Provincial council had just voted to allow nudity in the clubs. Fully dressed bureaucrats had decided that to increase the tax revenue from alcohol sales they would force exotic dancers into baring it all onstage. In one fell swoop, our G-Strings had been yanked off by pencil pushers in a faraway office building.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Filthy
verpasinospmohTrM
The curse of modern-day existence assaults me daily. One website or another nagging me for a new password. I can barely remember what I've had for breakfast and they want me to use a unique password for every stinking site. I'm not even sure of what ID I've used for these sites, let alone the passwords. If I only had to make up a new one I'd be fine. But they expect me to remember something I'd made up six months ago when I was annoyed and bothered by their constant whining, 'reset your password'.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Confessions
Is it I could care less, or I couldn’t care less?
Stripping adventures in Quebec City In January of 1976, I had been booked at a big club in Quebec City as a feature stripper for the first time. What should have been an exciting time for me had turned into an unbelievable mess.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Filthy
Unashamedly Heterosexual
This is my reality. I love men. The deep timbre of their voices, their angles, and broad shoulders, beards, and mustaches, and that tuft of hair in the center of their chests. I love men's muscled arms and chests and their strength. (Especially when I'm trying to open a pickle jar.)
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Confessions
Clowning Around With a Married Man
Crisscrossing Ontario in a G-String The strip club at the Oshawa Hotel, where I had been booked into the Summer of 1976 was the size of a Bingo Hall. The men’s room had no door on it, and the stage was situated right within sight of it. If my eyesight had been better I could have had a nice show. There was no ladies’ room in the club. If a lady accidentally stumbled into the bar, she would have to hold it until she ran out to the restaurant on the other side of the hotel or out to the bushes in the back parking lot.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Journal
Fight, Fight, Fight
Shortly after my return to dancing at the Bottom's Up club in Rochester, New York, my ex-boyfriend, Frank wandered into the club and tried to rekindle our old, whatever it was. It sure hadn't been much of a romance. He had dragged me across the country, lying, cheating, and beating me, until he dumped me in the middle of Arizona for a middle-aged barmaid. I'd been nineteen and he was thirty-two.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Journal
Dolls, Wild Things and White Satin
I had been sidelined from my dance career for three months by a dislocated knee and had to move into a women's shelter because my funds had been taken by a dancer I'd been staying with. It was truly one of the lowest points of my life. I hated depending on other people for anything and that was just humiliating. I was at the shelter for exactly one day before getting a job at a newspaper typing classified ads.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Journal
The Things One Finds at the Bottom of a Cliff
It was a fine day for watching migrating birds, so my hubby and I made a trip to our local bird-watching site, Sage Creek promontory. We had bundled up in thick, wooly sweaters and hiking boots for our jaunt. The air was crisp and smelled like burning leaves and the sweet, rotting apples that dotted the ground in the field on the other side of the road.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Criminal
Love at First Write
Has any other writer had this same problem? You begin to write a character into your story to play the antagonist or perhaps even a side character with a hellish bent, and you soon find yourself inventing reasons why he or she isn't so bad. You create excuses for their betrayals and wrongdoings because you can't bring yourself to hate them. You don't want your readers to hate them either. There is always a mitigating circumstance for their evil ways.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Confessions
Over a Barrel in Niagara Falls
My latest boyfriend, Gino, dropped me off in the afternoon at my new strip club gig in Niagara Falls. He wanted to stay the night but he had an overnight shift at the glass factory he couldn't turn down. After helping me take my bags to the creepy, little apartment upstairs over the club, he took off, leaving me to fend for myself.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Criminal
Having fun in Quebec City
In January of 1977, I was working at a new strip club in Quebec City; the first feature booking of my exotic dance career. I had not been feeling well for several weeks before that and my stomach upsets were not letting up. I was convinced that worrying about the affair with my ex, Jake, had caused an ulcer. My life, in the past seven months, had been a series of ups and downs, disappointments and highs. At my last booking, just a week ago, a friend of his came to the club I was dancing at and told me that Jake's wife was pregnant and her family would destroy him financially if he ever left her.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Confessions
I'm Too Sexy for My Cane
At the beginning of 1976, My agent had sent me to a new Strip club in Quebec City that was celebrating its grand opening. It was as big as a warehouse, with table seating for two-hundred patrons. Working the service bar were delicious-looking young French men in white shirts with bow ties. Ooh-la-la. Vive Quebec.
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Confessions
