Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about women's health issues, sexism, gender roles, and the female experience.
Now before any aggressive "whatabouters" jump down my throat, I am not explaining this to patronize, I am explaining this to do just that, explain. After reading something on social media the other day saying that a woman had asked her boyfriend to get her tampons on the way home and his response was, "Eeww, no I don't want them to think I am with someone gross!" I began to think that men need to be educated about periods (because for some reason they are not in school!)
Rosita was a lucky girl. Of the three shots fired at her, only one was fatal. Sometimes I wonder what she said to her guardian angel as her soul left her body.
Marching band has always been known to be a refuge for the outcasts, a safe place to be you and be as creative and different as your heart desires! I used to feel this way about marching band, I didn't feel the need to put on a smile and try to look beautiful for everyone around me. I felt like I could talk about the strangest things in the world and everyone would just accept me for who I was.
About this Novel: This is a novel about a young Miami girl that journeys through live. With her street smarts, sexy charisma and business intelligence, she often finds herself in some twisted entanglements. Due to the actual characters being very powerful people, names and dates have been changed.
When the seed of doubt blooms and you decide you need to protect yourself, when do you start to lie? Right before I started working in New York City, I had a concerning encounter when waiting for a train. Parking was an absolute nightmare since I was a daily parker, not a permit parker. After that twenty-minute ordeal of squeezing into an absurdly tiny space from an absurdly tiny lane that didn’t leave much navigating room, I went up and waited with all the other sad commuters standing out in the twenty-degree weather.
Earlier this morning I watched a post on Instagram of a video where Lil Wayne talks to 50 Cent about exotic women, while black women are just "angry". It's something that everyday just gets under my skin.
As time went on Lilianna became best friends with Mary Jane. Her father had never looked at her the same and it felt like wonderful life that she once knew would never be the same. Before the travesty against her body she had been somewhat an ambivert, knowing when to be introvert and extrovert. However after the rape she went completely changed, becoming an introvert completely. It was as if her spirit internally had been crushed, no longer in touch with God. She started to question if he was real, why would he let that happen to her, was it her fault for being disobedient or sneaky. Poor Lilianna, a child that had to face so many hard questions.
When all the bans came down last year there was a lot of misinformation that swirled around. The pro life and pro choice people both believed lies. A lot of Americans are pro choice. I wanted to put out the truth as a neutral person.
I came across an article online posted on Elite Daily. Author Alexia LaFata apparently thinks it is “completely okay to objectify men” because men are always the oppressors and women are always the oppressed. LaFata emphasizes on the existence of “the male gaze,” which is the idea that women are portrayed as sexual objects to satisfy a straight, male audience. Notice how I made the previous words bold and italicized, because LaFata just loves to stress on straightness and maleness.
Once upon a time, there lived two women, Nnenna and Adaeze, who always quarreled about everything. They quarreled when the rain didn’t fall, they quarreled when the rain did fall.
When I began junior or high school in seventh grade, Carol was in the eight grade. She was a pretty girl, about 5”7 inches tall slender and popular. She had shoulder length blonde hair and hazel eyes and was a cheerleader. She was actually the captain of the group. Looking back I would say she resembled Marcia Brady from the television show The Brady Bunch, only a few inches taller. I would see her walking through the halls of school with her hair bouncing on her shoulders, often with an enterauge of other cheerleaders with her. I was a shy teen and would imagine what it must be like to be so pretty and popular.
A bare stage. Slowly, a single pool of light to the far left side lights up. It is a perfect circle. Gradually, the intensity of the light brightens, threatening to blind us for a moment until it dims down to tolerance. We wait for a minute until a second pool of light comes up in line with the first on the right side of the stage. This does the same as the first light, brightening with much intensity but then returns to tolerance. Finally, the last pool of light glows in between the others far upstage and center, to reveal the silhouette of A NAKED MAN standing in a tub of water. His back is turned to us. The NAKED MAN can be a father, a brother, a lover, a rapist, or a photographer. We don’t know. What we do know is that the light he is in doesn’t get brighter. It just obeys the laws of darkness, and is barely lit, leaving the man in an uncomfortable night. From stage left, A GIRL walks in backwards, holding an empty leash in her left hand and a basket in the other. She seems to be looking for something, or searching for someone—perhaps the animal that belongs on the leash, or the food that belongs in the basket. This too, we do not know. What we do know is that the basket is white, and the leash is white with red. Both were made to be white, but a crimson design lives on the collar of the leash. The crimson is blood. A GIRL steps into the first stage left pool of light, and blinks eight times in an attempt to clear her vision. She inhales deeply. The sound of her inhale is magnified, and the tiny breath can be heard from six directions. A DRUNK enters from upstage, passes the NAKED MAN, and joins the GIRL, dressed in an elegant evening gown made of green silk. Her wet hair hangs on her cheeks, and she appears to be very pregnant, stretching the delicate fabric too thin around her swollen belly. The two speak.