New monologue

It all started a few months ago when the big heads asked us to go to “a training”
The memo gave us the date, time, location and a warning that if we didn’t show up
We’d lose our job.

This wasn’t a new thing for us
We all remembered the “diversity dinner” were
we had to welcome our new multicultural staff
I think it was more like our boss’s way of
Saying “LOOK, I’M NOT A RACIST!”
I had been working there for a year
And I guess he hadn’t noticed me
Because when I walked by that jackasses table he
Said, “Excuse Me, Bus boy – can you clear the table for us”
When I told him I’m a writer for the sports column
He welcomed me and assured me that my new job
Would be a friendly work environment for colored
People like me…. Suuuuure.

A month after that we had a “multicultural training”
we were all promised that “our voices
were somehow important to the success of the event
but the microphone never got around to us…
it was just bunch of white men in business suits yelling
about how we needed to be “more politically correct”
the politics department had a field day!

P1: You have absolutely no training as a political analyst, you are hardly qualified to discuss the politics of anything.

P2: You don’t tell a black woman how to not be racist.

P3: Politically correct is not objective,

P4: it’s censorship


Their sassy little asses went fact for fact about this issue and that issue
and everyone else just sat there doing what they normally did.

S2: So round and plump and juicy and..

S3: Come on man, shoot already!

S2: Trust me, I’d like to!

S3: Dude, the football!
S2: What?

S3: Fumble!

The sports section, We kept score!
Fashion too, but they must have been
Watching the fall clothing line c
ause they kept talking
Amongst themselves and periodically cackling at the most awkward moments
World news [smokes pipe]

W1: Gentleman, which one of you has the Turkish tobacco? I could go for a little Euroasia right now.

W2: Euroasia… I believe the ottoman empire fell years ago,

W3: I believe he’s trying to say

W2: that you smoked the last box months ago, right after carnaval!

W1: Blasted importing laws! We need more

W: turks in this office.


Apparently, they’re not big on fair trade

So anyways nobody thought this
This other training would be any different.
But we dragged our diverse asses to it hoping that it wouldn't be the same.

Dakota: Opening Monologue

It all started a few months ago when the big heads asked us to go to “a training”
The memo gave us the date, time, location and a warning that if we didn’t show up
We’d lose our job.

This wasn’t a new thing for us
We all remembered the “diversity dinner” were
we had to welcome our new multicultural staff
I think it was more like our boss’s way of
Saying “LOOK, I’M NOT A RACIST!”
I had been working there for a year
And I guess he hadn’t noticed me
Because when I walked by that jackasses table he
Said, “Excuse Me, Bus boy – can you clear the table for us”
When I told him I’m a writer for the sports column
He welcomed me and assured me that my new job
Would be a friendly work environment for colored
People like me…. Suuuuure.

A month after that we had a “multicultural training”
we were all promised that “our voices
were somehow important to the success of the event
but the microphone never got around to us…
it was just bunch of white men in business suits yelling
about how we needed to be “more politically correct”
the politics department had a field day!
Their sassy little asses went fact for fact about this issue and that issue
and everyone else just sat there doing what they normally did.
The sports section, We kept score!
Fashion too, but they must have been
Watching the fall clothing line cause they kept talking
Amongst themselves and periodically cackling at the most awkward moments
World news insisted we needed more Turks in the office,
something about cheap imports. Apparently, they’re not big on fair trade

So anyways nobody thought this
This other training would be any different.
But we dragged our diverse asses to it hoping that it wouldn't be the same.

SONG Edit 1

CHANGES: Changed chorus from 16 bars to 8
- Cut out talking part in the beginning
-With talking fillers its 3:24, without its 2:52




D & M: Ugh, another gray hair.

Keep first 17 seconds (intro)

D:
Gotta do the laundry when
I get home tonight
Article due at 9 AM
Have dinner by candelight
Im supposed to cook this time
When will I write this piece
I’ll be up late again
Till 4 AM at least
Later if baby’s up all night
Crying in her crib for me
Daddy tried to pacify
But she still can not sleep
I need to be there for her
And the office needs me too
Stuck between both places
What’s a mom to do?
Husband’s not around enough
Though I wish he were
Says he’s with the guys
But I don't trust his word
says dinner don't taste so good
not the same recipe
now that I got a job
work’s got the best of me


You don't know what its like
To be a woman in my position
Looking Like This, Taming Wild Hair
Cooking all this, with no time to spare
From cleaning all your shit to Child care
Not sposed to be a bitch when nothing fair


Damn! I should say somethin

M: I treat my wife the best
Always tell her I love you
Always let her have her rest
Fix anything she wants me to
Remember anniversaries
Pick up the kids from school
Go buy the groceries
I’ll cook dinner too
But when I’m at work
The guys always hassle me
Say that I’m absurd
And my wife’s controlling me
But I don’t think that’s true
I just enjoy the work
Some men don't understand
This is what a wife is worth
I try to comprehend
Women’s complexity
Does that really make me
a woman wannabe



You don't know whats its like
to be a man in my position
women pass by, I’m supposed to stare
expected to have many affairs
Being in this world where my kind is rare
Get called a bitch, how’s this fair


YEAH! How the hell is this fair?


D:
Now I can say fuck the kids
Wife will take care of them
Have that great vegas trip
Meet some twins and marry them
I can be promiscuous
And stay out late at night
No man to question me
Then I’ll start a bar fight


M: Now I can say fuck the guys
My hair is gorgeous now
Women and men pass by
And all they say is WOW
I’ll put my make up on
and wear my tall high heels
Use my vibrator
OH my god! Are these real?


D & M:

You don't know whats its like
to be a (wo)man in my position
all their cheap shots and all of their
bullshit to their angry glares
what? Am i supposed to care
I’m gonna be a bitch, cause nothin’s fair

[INSERT NEW, RELEVENT TITLE] Alternate Expectations of Sexuality Edit I.

Man and woman in separate bathrooms, in stalls or in front of mirrors.

B-Both
F-Female
M-Man

B: They taught me to exist in levels

F: as long as I can remember, I’ve been told to take things

B: sitting down/ (standing up)

B The level of respect I deserve is equal to my height off the ground

F: Mother always said it was my role to bend, find my place in the cracks between men.

M: Father idolized cliff sides, worshipped sudden ruts and odd edges. He’d shake my hand the first time blood dripped from my jersey like badges of honor.

F: -I knew how to swallow, mine down my own throat. Couldn’t always stomach their expectations. Just wife; a woman skirting her own potential, only as alive as my oven mitt.

B: Everyone else

F: looked at me like a dishrag wrung out to dry, water lining crusted dishes

B: I was too dainty

M: I never had hands like hammers. Didn’t want to be made of metal, raised in the mist of wars. Be trained to sniff out Chanel No. 5 on collarbones.

B: I just wanted to be sturdy,

M: Afford down payments on my house

F: If I unleashed my backbone from its straightjacket, walked into the conference room would manhood hang like my suit tie?

M: If I wear a skirt to work today, contrary to lessons of piecemeal mirrors, would the natural blush of my cheek make me woman?

F: Think past my knee-highs.

M: Cuff discomfort under my collar.

B: The workplace is a battlefield,

M: the resurrection of this tradition exists in the way I urinate

F: Nothing will change.

B: I was taught to stall.

Partnership (Power Dynamic) Piece --- Second Draft

In any partnership,
There's the traditional roles of the Alpha: superior, boss
and the Lesser: docile, obedient one.
We remain silent as we accept it.
Like this imbalance of symmetry doesn't affect our chemistry.
As the weight of opinions try to swing back and forth like a broken grandfather clock

Words in Arguments have two voices
the one that comes from the person speaking and the untranslated one

Just let me talk - translated - My voice is the only one to be heard now
I don't understand - translated - I don't want to hear your side
You're wrong - translated - Stay in your place

... Stay in your place....

because there isn't enough room for you in mine
This dynamic doesn't simply exist in romantics
Look at brothers and sisters, bosses and workers
We often award authority in experience before testing the applicability of the experience of the situation.
I'm older so I know better.

But age is not truth
Wisdom is not wine

Balance is more than a virtue these days, it's a commodity.
There's nothing worse than weighing on a crooked scale

The foundation of any relationship deserves to be built with pillars of love, trust, fidelity, and effort.
And if one partner neglects to build, they leave an absence
which calls for the other partner to play Atlas, bearing the weight.
Until we learn how to stand evenly on this tightrope
We will never be able to balance the power between us.



5 Points to cover

1. Discuss the power dynamic in partnerships with the traditional roles of person giving orders and the other that receives the orders.
2. Reveal the answer to good partnership as balance
3. Describe the argument process in the struggle for power
4. Mention the applicability of this issue of power dynamic in all types of relationships
5. Discuss the foundations of a relationship

A. Thompson
J. Mans
W. Giles

Expectations of Sexuality

Expectations of Sexuality

Jasmine Mans
Angela Thompson


They taught him to be brave
He’s trained like a shoulders
A worrier of a light too bright to ever claim him as his sun.
To fight battles in wars that will exist too long to ever remember his name
he is the resurection of a tradition that existed way before his last name
He wears his forefather’s armor like pertection
Pokes out his chest until his spine curves into the proper shape that manhood requires
They trained him to fight
To know how to shoot a gun
Taught him how to let his manhood hang like his suite tie
Cuff his worries under his colar

They taught me exist in levels
hold my head up
poke out my chest
pee standing up
never ever dance parellel to happiness
I will never know what its like to shoot a 9 millimeter loaded with daiseys
to sprinkle glitter off the edge of hope
I will never know what my heart beat sounds like when its finished callasping under my bullet proof vest

They taught him to run
they taught him to run in his cleets, but to never track the dirt and gravel into the house
run towards freedom
claim life as his own
play salsa with the pinks of flesh and never pay attention long enough to know when he’s dipping him too close insanity
they taught him to wear his scars proudly

I paint black eyes on with eye liner proudly
Let’s his blood drip off his jersey like a badge of honor
Spaghetti Sauce drips off my apron like blood like a badge of honor
They taught her to exist in levels
poke out my ass
tut up my nose
relax my shoulders
i was never taught to think past my knee highs
As women we were educated in etiquette
they taught me to walk in high heels
balance my soul on the tips of my toes
As if we lack the strength to stand
Raised in the mist of wars
play victim to this world because as long as my hair is done right someone will always save me
wear enough perfume, because these soldiers are trained to sniff out the weak
make sure my shoes are not built for running, so he can carry me while he saves me
make sure your light enough to hold so its easy for him to pick me up when he saves me
and when he’s done saving me,
Make sure i lick his wounds
stroke his scars
Creasing his jeans like our self esteem
Learn to creep under his feet like carpet
I put on my apron like armer Our spatchulas as swords
only as alive as our oven mit
strape knives and forks to your waist line like weapons
Go to war for him
i am the resurection of a tradition that existed way before their timeline
mind your manners
take off your helmet when you step inside my battle feilds

Woman in Politics (or Fashion) and Man in Sports Section

Man and Woman enters opposite bathrooms that have mirrors in the front of them and on their right hand side. He is dressed in brightly colored woman’s clothing and beings to prepare for a day’s work at that the office. Her breasts are bound and she is dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shit with a baseball cap.

Erika and Elton: [Shocked and grabs chest] Thought there was someone else here. [Releases a sign of relief]

Marne: They tripped again. Tripped and stumbled into the bathroom door. She could hear her mother

Erika: My mother is a southern belle that don’t ring no more.

Marne: Mouth open—no sound. “Keep trippin Big Foot!”

Erika and Elton: [Starts to take off heels] I am a size 11

Erika: Mom always said men liked women with a hip-swaying strut but they don’t make “cute” shoes for women like me.
Elton: After all, I’m a man… [Starts to take off stockings]

Erika: a wo-man… [Drops pants]

Elton: a man without womb. I don’t have the ovaries for that job—to be free—to be myself.

Marne: I heard you shaved your head the other day

Erika: I took an ace-bandage, wrapped my breasts like they were open wounds.

Marne: Binding her brains to toddler shaped feet, concave breasts

Erika: The weight of slender switchblades pressed into concrete on Sunday mornings to impress Mother match the sloppy clank of Chinese girls finding footing in new shoes.

Erika and Elton: Still, neither of us fit.
Elton: My grandfather wore a kilt, you know? He saw who I was, and gave be my first kilt. [Starts to put on pants] He was a proud Scottish man. He had them for special occasions. Dad didn’t want me to have it. In this country, they call it a skirt and don’t respect culture—abuse every other culture ‘cause they don’t have they own. Grandpa had them in every color. He wore them with pride.

Marne: The mirror’s right there little girl….boy…child. Reflection full of rainbows.

Erika: I can feel the safety pin pinch the underbelly of my bosom. This is womanhood: suppressing the physicality of my sex to overcome the objectivity of it.

Elton: Grandpa said “you’ll have to wear the lies you start with.” I wore a suit to the interview. I’ll have to where it for the rest of my life, right? You dress for the role; you’ll get the roll. You dress like a man, one day you’ll be a man.

Marne: Awkward role play.

Erika: In the Ching Dynasty, heels defined womanhood.

Marne: Quit trippin over your feet, man-sized and worn out. There’s a difference between stalls and urinals. So, stand up straight. When you hold your dick stop tucking yourself inward.

Erika and Elton: Don’t judge me.

Elton: You played it once; you can play it again, after all, the work place is the theatre. Besides,

Erika and Elton: They’ll like you more.

Erika: [fully unwrapped by now, push up bra underneath] for a thousand years, broken feet folded at the arch, toes bent tightly against the soles. Our feet are free, but we’re still bound.
Erika and Elton: Unraveling who we really are.

Marne: This is womanhood:

Erika: looking fuckable for your boss.

Elton and Marne: This is professional:

Elton: [Puts on shirt] wearing my lie—a suit—the label of a business man—wo-man—man without womb—

ALL: After all, this is business.

[Erika and Elton put on shoes, walks to the mirror, starts to comb/brush hair, puts items in the bag, and looks up]

Erika and Elton: Oh it’s you. [Exits]

Thing we're trying to accomplish:
1. Gender Discrimination
2. Compare the concept of Chainese foot binding to breast binding
3. Conformity to societial sterotypes
4. Perspective of what it means to be a man/woman