Dalana Minor
Communications 101
Due Date: September 17, 2007

Stereotypes: Flirtatious Women


In today’s times, many taboos on sexuality and gender have been broken. There are working moms who can’t roast a turkey to perfection and shove fast food down their offspring’s throats. There are stay-at-home dads who, unlike their busy spouses, know a disinfecting wipe from a baby wipe. Men will even do the laundry and iron for their wives without being made fun of by the guys down at the office. However, many double standards do still exist, especially against women. The “double standard” issue rages across our televisions and in the minds of women everywhere. An example of that double standard is a flirtatious woman. She is known by many names, the harshest of them being “slut.”
Everyone knows that one girl, the girl that flirts with anything that moves. Her parents have never told her not to give it away to any Tom, Dick, or Harry, especially the middle man. She laughs, flips her hair, and wears so little clothes she might as well change her name to Eve, or Britney Spears. Besides her awful taste in “clothes,” have you seen her hair color? It’s always something new, I guess so she can be a new woman every man or night, whichever comes first (and trust me, its anybody’s guess). She’s horny all the time, and if you’re willing to give her the time of day, she’ll make your “heart” tick. Then she moves on to the next guy without a single regret. All sluts want is sex, sex, sex. They’re pros when it comes to it and can do things for a guy even the devil would condemn! Of course they never get paid, unlike their counterparts, the prostitutes. Being a slut is like prostitution without the pimp, without the change, and all the STDs a girl could ask for!
It’s true these girls are looking for a good time, all the time. They can be seen at any social gathering taking shots off some guy’s navel or dancing so close to a man they look like a Hindu goddess. It’s okay for guys to use them, sluts practically live for the adventure of having a new man in bed every time, and its not like they want a true relationship. They don’t get hurt when they get dumped. Actually, do they ever even have boyfriends? When the guys leaves, they just move on to the next party, and to the next piece of you-know-what. Its like sluts don’t even have feelings sometimes, they just want to party and have sex, like some kind of crazed animal.
If there’s one thing sluts are good at, it’s playing games. If Jeopardy had a mind games section, Ken Jennings wouldn’t stand a chance. They love playing with a guy’s emotions, making him think he’s the best thing in the room until you’ve got one cocky boy, so to speak. Sluts must have some magic formula to getting guys off: wear just enough clothes to qualify, cake the makeup, flip the hair, get all in his personal space, then he’ll get into yours, or something like that. It works every time! When a real girl sleeps with someone, she gets all nervous and crazy around him for weeks, but not sluts. They’ll sleep with a guy and then act like nothing’s different between them, even though everyone can tell he’s slept with her. These guys will have drool on their faces until the tests come back from the lab. Even if she’s tainted, she’ll still get it from somewhere, maybe some homeless guy under the bridge. After all, all sluts live for is sex, sex, sex.
These common misconceptions about flirtatious women are sometimes ridiculous and only represent a small number of flirtatious women. Not all want sex, but have never been properly educated on planning a rendezvous. For them, sex just happens, like a car crash, and there’s nothing they could’ve done to stop it. They make up excuses like “he was turned on and I didn’t want to disappoint” or “I couldn’t just say no.” Many flirtatious women are looking for true relationships, too, not just a one-night-stand. But their carefree personalities allow men to take advantage and have all the free romps they want. Flirtatious women don’t always aim to play a game, but when you’re looking for that special person, sometimes dating can seem like a game. People may think dating is game sluts win at every night, but that’s not true. Sluts lose, and like any other person, try again.
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Everyone who stumbles upon this:

I decided to post a story I wrote last year in Creative Writing class with Helfin. Hope you like it. It's called "Special Edition."

TEXT BEGINS HERE:
Dalana Minor
English 315
“Special Edition”

Special Edition. The phrase never made sense on my tongue. For my grandmother, special edition was a reason to buy and collect. She owned collectibles from plates to dolls, especially Barbie dolls. Her Norman Rockwell plates always intrigued me. They always sat on her kitchen windowsills, and all the dark colors never matched a thing, but somehow they belonged. My favorite was a couple reading a novel, looking so amazed by the presence of words on a page. She owned all twelve, but her constant complaining of how the 1975 reprint I loved so much was a spot in her collection.
“Reprint equals no longer special edition. You only get one shot to collect them all. If you make more, there’s no point. There’s no such thing as second chances in this business.”
Business, that’s what she called her weekly visits to all the antique shops within a fifty-mile radius of Hammond. When my parents wanted a break from being my sole caregivers, I would go on these trips. The only thing that kept me going on such trips down highways overlooking marshlands and bayous was Mama Joyce’s constant talk of what to look for today.
“Today, Roland, we’re looking for rose crystal sauces, not plates. I swear to God, if you call me over for a damn plate I will bruisé ta tete! The second you find them, you know what to do.”
I always knew what to do: guard them with my life. If someone else took what I was in charge of, I was guaranteed a bad report to my parents and confinement to my room. There’s nothing worse than being grounded by a grandparent. After all, they used to ground your parents, so it’s like the ultimate punishment.
“That’s an antique, from 1937. Roland’s grandmother used to collect them. What was that called, son?”
My father often went on like this, showing off the antiques to every visitor. Ever since Mama Joyce passed away, he’s acted like the damn antiques are mine, like I know everything about all of them. What would a kid my age do with a room full of antiques? The same thing my dad would do if he had any idea how much they’re worth: sell them. She didn’t even leave them to me: she had nothing in her will about it. My parents had no use for them, so they agreed to put them all in the common room and put me in charge. They really just wanted me to clean them and arrange them, but they said Mama Joyce would’ve wanted me to have them. Since her passing, I haven’t sold a single one. Not for sentimental reasons, but I just don’t have time to make listings and call shops like Mama J did. That’s not my business.
Mama Joyce died suddenly, not even an hour after I went with her to find her last doll: the 1961 Sophisticate Little Black Dress Barbie.( Read more... )

Just doing this for no reason. luv ya bye