That Damn Dinner

It’s hard to believe the season finale of Insecure is upon us. We all have so many questions and wonderings that will require more than one 30 minute episode to satisfy our curiosities. Sunday night was tough to watch. For some reason, I feel so connected with this cast, and I’m confident I’m not the only one. There were so many moments where all I could say was “Damn” (long and drawn out). Daniel and Issa’s phone conversation for instance. From Sunday to Sunday I was giving my man (he became “my man” when I saw how right he had that body looking. Makes me want to reconsider another ab challenge for myself. Hmmm…I just reconsidered it. And…no thanks. Daniel got us. ) the benefit of the doubt. I assumed he didn’t intentionally splash , or should I say spray Issa in the face with…y’all saw the episode. But then he’s all like “…well we’re even now.” I’m like dude! She’s was about to forgive you. Let it ride. And here you go saying something stupid and totally unnecessary. Damn…

Issa and Lawrence. Damn. Damn. Damn (in my Florida Evan’s voice). First of all, Issa had no business pressing Lawrence about bringing a date. FOH. But he went in on her. And she went in on him! And I hated every second of watching their hurt and pain revealed in clapbacks and one ups. As she wrecks her apartment, for the first time, I felt sympathy for her. Like if she could rewind the hands of time, she’d make a different choice. One that may not have involved staying in an unfulfilling relationship but did involve respecting your partner, relationship, and friendship enough not to totally destroy and wreck it beyond repair. Unfortunately… we don’t always get the luxury of rewinding time to make a better choice. And with some people/friendships/relationships, once you lose them, you lose them for good.   Although Issa took an L and tomorrow she may bounce back, Party Time wasted no time on Operation Bounce Back with his new, swaggy friend. Courtesy of him, we may have a chorus coming soon: At 10pm I took an L but at 11pm I bounced back. Damn the both of yous…

Note: You both get on my nerves right now.

And then there’s Molly. Poor Molly. I mean, what the fuck was she thinking getting involved with Dro, especially when we all advised her, through our TV screens, and the “innanet” DON’T DO IT. She looked so pitiful sitting at that dinner table. As if things couldn’t getting any worse than totally being ignored, made to feel invisible by someone you’ve been intimate with  *(man…my jealous, sometimes mildly possessive ass would’ve turned that whole dinner party out. I once got irritated with a guy for telling me another woman “always keeps her hair looking good.” Excuse you!  Say what now? In my mind,  that was a detailed observation that required detailed observation,  it was the perfect opportunity NOT to pay attention, a concern that should not have concerned him. The only (and yes I meant only)  hairstyle he needed to be observing and concerned with  and paying attention to…was mine. Granted, that was YEARS ago  (I’ve grown a bit since) but I’m certain a little bit of that is still in me. Hence, why I steer clear of those types of sharing situations. I know me #knowthyself.  I can’t handle it.)  they get it in in the restaurant bathroom only for him to prove once again she’s not, nor will she ever be, priority. The entire situation made her feel cheap. Disposable. Unworthy (not worth it). Like an option.  Humiliated. I really wished she would’ve given Lionel (with his not so boring to me boring ass a chance) . That way I would not have had to feel the character’s pain, disgust with self, confusion, anger, and hurt ultimately being reminders of times I myself owned those feelings (not for ratings but for real for real).  I understand, but still loathe situations where we (women) take (accept, allow, make ourselves ok with)  less just to say we have some…thing. Those situations that leave us holding the short end of the stick.  Damn those situations.  I need Molly to make us all proud  (Sisters Unite) tomorrow by getting out and staying out.

Alright. Brining this long ass post to a close. Until next time…

*long ass parenthesis break. Sorry.

Cut. The. Shit.

Want to know what I’m and sick and tired of? FOS (aka Full Of Shitness). And although I’m sick of it, I’m also somewhat intrigued by it. Like why do we feel compelled to BS people…and themselves? What’s the pay off? I think I have a natural propensity to assume most people are full of it to be honest (blame it on my experiences). I give myself pep talks that go a little something like this: Hey, everybody’s not full of it.  EVERYBODY can’t be auditioning for the role of BS artist.  Be open. Give him or her a chance. Imagine my annoyance when my initial suspicions are confirmed. I knew your bleepity bleep was full of it. 

And I guess the reality is we all can be full of it at times. Some of us carry FOS morsels while others are lugging around  whole barrels full of nothing but…you guessed it.  Let’s all vow to cut the shit for the rest of 2017.  Let’s “keep it one hundred” with ourselves and others. If you think your homegirl’s hair looks a hot mess, don’t front and tell her you think it looks cute. If you know you’re not going to call that guy you’re not attracted to, don’t have him calling Sprint to see if something’s wrong with his service/reception. If you’re not leaving your child’s mother  for your girlfriend on the side, man cut the shit, and stop telling your girlfriend you’re working on it ( You ain’t working on bleeeeep. You’re going to be right there with your child’s mother and those kids so cut it!), if you’re not about that swinging/sharing life (Molly reference) stop promoting falsehoods, forcing yourself to do things not in agreement with who you are at your core. Just cut the shit. If you just played the woman like a fiddle for a green card stop trying to present as if you really loved her (90 Day Fiance reference). Cut it! If you’re telling every girl you meet that she’s The One (knowing you lying)  please…cut the shit. Sincerity trumps charm every single day of the year. Just saying. If you’re miserable AF in your relationships, stop posting and posturing as if you’re the luckiest, happiest girl/guy in the world. You’re being a BS artist and you need to cut the shit. I could go on and on with examples of FOS but I’m confident you understand the gist of what’s being expressed.

I’ll be cutting the shit as well for the duration of 2017.  I will speak my truth. I will have courageous conversations instead of smiling and being cordial all while avoiding the pink elephant in the room. I’ll remind myself…Rhonda,this is a great time to cut the shit as often as needed. My goal is to not bullshit anyone,  and I don’t want anyone trying to bullshit me.  I’d love to close 2017 out more authenically than I started it.  I invite you to come along on this journey. Cheers to cutting the shit.