Love, Honor, Obey, and Bullshit

Do you REALLY promise? Say yes.

Do you REALLY promise? Say yes.

After watching this week’s RHOA (Real Housewives of Atlanta), I couldn’t help but become deeply enraged with fury. For real! So y’all know I had to unleash it on the MacBook, right? Here goes…

First of all, I admire and respect the lovely Ms. Porsha Stewart. I see a lot of class in her, but I also see a small bit of insecurity. This week, the Housewives were upset with her decision to not go to the Vegas strip club with them. Porsha’s first reason was that Kordell wouldn’t be happy if he had known she was there; her excuse quickly became “I just don’t feel comfortable” in a matter of minutes (or so the segment suggests).

What’s the real reason? We may never know. Here’s the bottom line: Porsha wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her and Kordell’s marriage. Whether he is/isn’t okay with her going to see strippers is a totally different subject. But let’s explore the allegations of him being controlling. The ever-so-fabulous NeNe Leakes was QUICK to lead this group of ducklings in bashing Kordell. Porsha would be a fool to listen to NeNe in that aspect!

In my opinion, like breeds like. And if Porsha ends up ‘like’ NeNe by following her (unsolicited) advice, she’s gonna be unhappy and unmarried. None of the Housewives have grounds to say A-N-Ything about what Porsha should or shouldn’t do in her marriage. I will go out on a limb and say that there are only two legally-binding names on the certificate of Mr. and Mrs. Kordell Stewart’s marriage. See where I’m going with this?

Let’s not forget the basics here, though. Kordell is an ex-NFL player with money. Porsha brings a little bit of cheese to the table as well with her family’s foundation. Do they complement each other? Yes. Should she love, honor, and obey her husband’s wishes? By all means. Can this girl stand on her own without Kordell? Umm…probably not!!! However, I stand firmly in supporting his traditional relationship views.

If your man (as the head of the household, not just some long-term boyfriend) requests you to be at home with dinner waiting once he arrives in the evening, do that. If he says keep the housekeepers in check, do that. If he says it’s time to lay up and pop out all of my children tomorrow, as long as he’s the breadwinner do that. What’s the big deal? Porsha knows her place and I’m sure Kordell is content with it. Can we say the same about Greg, Peter, Apollo, Todd, or even Walter? Un-fucking-likely. Hell no.

I’m going to leave you with this thought—relationships are about communication, compromise, and contingency. As long as each person assumes their role, then less conflict arrises. When dealing with men, we as women must must must must must learn to take down our defenses if we wish to nurture healthy partnerships that lead to marriage. Remember this post??? Now shut up and go make love!

Drive-Thru Relationships

I’ve been in love once. Twice. Okay three times. Who knows. Clearly this, um, lack of understand shows I know all about love and what I’m looking for, right? So let’s talk about what I have learned.

There was a spark of something in San Francisco that opened a new chapter for me and I really wanted it to go further. Had all the indications that it might look good dressed up in a suit. iCan’t do the long-distance thing, so it fallowed.

Flashback to the holidays of 2012. I met a guy online (I’ll never use that site again!) and I was interested in seeing what would blossom. And after our first date, we dived straight in–but not literally, so stop thinkin’ nasty. It was phone calls everyday, meet for dinner every other day, and then it happened. He called me ‘baby’.

I let it slide on at least eight different times, but after a while, I couldn’t take it! Something in me was screaming, “This is too much too fast and I HATE ‘baby’!” I had to tell him this.

But I tried to play it smooth, though. He was closing the car door and said, “Have a safe drive home, baby.” I reopened the door, got out of my car, and said ever so slightly to his chocolate face, “I really, really don’t like that. Can’t you just call me Rhonda?”

He argued at me for a couple of minutes. I listened. But deep down I felt a huge knot growing in my stomach; and it was saying I don’t feel the same way about you.  

A few days went by, Christmas came, we exchanged gifts, I made plans for his birthday, and then somewhere along the way our communication fizzled. The calls were less frequent. The morning gym pics stopped. And through a disturbing tone in his voice while on the phone one day, I stepped foot into Chipotle just as he muttered the words ‘maybe this isn’t working out.’ The end.

Of course we’ve had the occasional Just Friends phone call/text here & there since then. But it’s really over! Lasted all of a month. And I’m okay with that…partially. Here’s the thing: I can honestly say that I’m content with just dating and not being in a relationship. When you commit to someone, you have to give them all of you. Or at least enough of you to actually begin building a foundation. I don’t think I’m ready to do that.

I like being me. At the end of my 13hr work day, I want to come home and sit in the corner of my couch under a quilt with some pita chips + hummus and watch the first two shows on my DVR. In silence. That’s what I do, it’s how I unwind. Do I want to cuddle with you in bed & listen to your crappy workday stories? Or gain unnecessary weight eat some heavy dinner (over candlelight blah blah) just because you haven’t eaten since breakfast time? Or rip off my clothes and jump on top of you? Not all the time. And FYI, in a so-called ‘relationship’ there’s a lot of ME being sacrificed for US. Fuck that. I ain’t ready yet.

I look forward to wearing too-tight clothes to a lounge and have *clearing throat* gentlemen gawk at me. I get excited each time I go to the gym simply because there’s always a new hot guy on the weights. I love to flirt with a cutie at the gas station. All these indicators let me know that I’m just not ready.

So until next time, unless I land an extra value meal on my next drive-thru relationship, let’s all cross our fingers in hopes they don’t forget the cheese on my chicken sandwich. Swiss cheese.

No Sex In The City

There it was across the room on the floor in a brown, unmarked package. The box was large enough to fit a pair of pumps, but I had received all seven of my shoe shipments already. I scattered my dresser for a pair of scissors. I snatched the box open. And behold: my complete DVD collection of Sex and the City I had patiently (anxiously) awaited coming home to for several weeks.

Like many women, I’ve seen only snippets of a single season of the show, but never really got the chance to watch it all. And the DVD set is a bit pricey unless you’re a true fan willing to spend the dough. But thanks to Groupon, I now own it plus the two movies.

So far, I’m done with the first three seasons, and boy! I had no idea the show was this…terrible.

Let’s go back. The show is skillfully and creatively put together in a way that depicts typical, modern white women.  Although it’s set in NY, I choose to believe chicks all across the USA share similar traits. So why am I disappointed? Because most of it is a HUGE LIE! I’ll break down the characters–

1) Charlotte – whore. very conservative. also rather conservative in the bedroom because she doesn’t give head and detests kinkiness in general. judges Samantha for being an overt whore, though. has a glamorized view of marriage and yearns for her fairytale fantasy. also pretty judgmental overall.

2) Miranda – whore. stiff and rude. usually horny at times when she either can’t find a man or has run a decent one away. settles easily because she isn’t pretty. stereotypical ‘successful woman with high standards and a domestic feline’. would probably lead a feminist movement in support of Madonna’s comeback.

3) Samantha – whore. open to her sexuality and doesn’t hide her urges. often has cheesy lines in the script because she’s wealthy and shouldn’t appear wiser than Carrie although she is. complete MTLF (…replace the “I” in MILF with “they”…) who sees what she wants and goes for it. if she were black, she’d be Karrine Steffans.

4) Carrie – whore. shallow, but smart. symbolizes the “every woman” archetype in that she keeps running back to the man who hurt her, while believing things between them will change. tries to change men. supposedly the lead character (or villain depending on how you look at her) in that her battles with men are the largest. true homewrecker.

Why would the writers of this show perpetuate such formulas women in only four distinct categories? Why would they lie to us, presenting these exaggerated characters with extremely distorted views of men? Why did Carrie marry Big in the first movie (if she did this in, say, season 5 no one would’ve watched the rest)? Why the hell does Charlotte land two seemingly perfect guys? It seems our lofty leaders of Hollywood stringed us along folks. And we like it.

In my opinion, Miranda and Samantha are most realistic. I have no words for how much I despise Carrie (except for “Aiden should have spit in your face at the wedding”) and Charlotte is too Disney to be in her 30s. A mess this is.

Nevertheless, I can’t wait for Blair Underwood’s character to meet Miranda and knock her boots later in the show. I mean—that’s just good TV, who wouldn’t be excited?

Let’s Talk About Men

Drake & Chris Brown are beefing? Kroy Bierman is still married to Kim? All the sisters of Tina & Erica (aka Mary Mary) are in happy, monogamous relationships? These headlines sound crazy, but they’re what I found circulating the news recently. And with Father’s Day just behind us, it made me start thinking about the men in general and the men in my life.

I’m not sure if I’m one of those women with ‘daddy issues’, but to answer your question, no, I don’t have a relationship with him. Haven’t seen it have much of an impact on my encounters with guys I’m dating, either. But the idea of Father’s Day (and Mother’s Day for that matter) sort of makes me gag! Sue me. I just think that fathers around the nation want something more than a barbecue & and new necktie on a hot Sunday in June.

I’ve also learned in my twenty-something years of life that men are quite simple. Ask any guy if a beer, some chips, and the remote control is a remedy for just about anything. It entertains me how women spend so much time writing books (or reading Steve Harvey’s book), writing articles, and pressing the age-old issue of what do men want? I figure they just want to be left alone! Watch this:

1) You’ve been hounding your man for weeks about his plans for Valentine’s Day. You’ve been throwing hints since Halloween about what you want to do, but he still hasn’t set anything in stone. And being the thoroughly efficient planner that you are, this is torture. My answer? Leave it alone, let the man figure it out.

2) Your guy is in between jobs. He’s torn between pursuing his passion & actually bringing in steady paychecks. He has a few leads that could possibly turn his dream into reality, but he thinks quitting his job will disappoint you. My solution? Leave it alone, let the man figure it out.

3) Your co-worker introduced you to a great guy outside of work. You see that he’s a pretty good catch, but feel like he has a hard time finding balance in his life. Seems like he’s always trying to squeeze in time for dates while juggling his other stuff. He says he’s interested, but you’re not so sure. My answer? You guessed. Let this guy figure it out.

One thing I know for sure is that us as women try to play God with a magic wand. LIke we can wave our hand, snap our fingers, and make things come to life. Simply not true, especially when it comes to men. They just operate on a different system than we do (like OS X versus Windows 7). However, Rhonda thinks that if we back off, let these guys perform on their own for just once, then we might be [positively] shocked. Note: this is my explanation for how/why someone all the way across the map sent me flowers. Guys have tricks up their sleeves, too. We just need to let them pull the rabbit out of the hat on their own.

#My2cents

Genuine or Ginuwine…And Dine

I know what you're thinking. And quit looking at me like that.

In case you didn’t know, I have full lyrics to thousands of songs in my head. I have no idea how this came to be, either. All I know is that I can listen to any of my stations on Pandora for 12-hours a day everyday & sing along to each song (wanna try me?) and my iTunes is about 3000 songs deep. Yep. I know all of them.

So today when Ginuwine’s “Last Chance” shuffled through on Tony!Toni!Tone! Radio, it brought back memories of me rolling in my Jeep down Santa Monica Blvd. Where was I headed? Glad you asked.

I met a guy (let’s call him Theo) at a beach party some friends threw in summer ’09. This is after I had relocated, so I was a mere infant to LA lifestyle and fresh outta college. When I saw Theo, I gasped a classic *girrrrrl look at his chest* as he and his friend walked past our blanket. I was with a girlfriend who co-signed the bulge of his biceps. I’m a sucker. Long story short, I got his number & we scheduled a date.

In college, a ‘date’ means we meet in the lobby of our dorm & walk to the dining hall together, right? PAUSE: Now before you go judging me, please be aware that I’m fully grown now & I can whoop your ass. But due to the fact that I’m saving for an ES-350, I don’t have bail money, so I won’t fight you. Go ahead, judge me. RESUME: Yes, I fell for Theo’s age-old classic dinner-at-my-house game. I was actually excited this hot dude invited little, country Rhonda Mae over!

He opened the door (fully clothed might I add; I was expecting more TRICEPS!) and I was surprised by his small studio apartment. I figured nice car = status. But whatever. This means he invited me to sit on the only chair in his apartment (his bed), I declined. I said, “Why don’t I just hangout in this half-kitchen? I’ll talk while you finish cooking.” So far, I’m winning.

About 45-minutes had passed while Theo tried his best to whip up meatless spaghetti with garlic bread. And I was laughing at his poor effort. He refused my help but managed to ask me to open the drawer near me and hand him a potholder. I pulled out the drawer and a beautiful array of golden-wrapped condoms was inside.

Me: Ummmmmm…really?

Theo: I mean, where else would I put them? It’s a drawer, right?

Me: Maybe in the bathroom? Or by your bed?

Theo: I like ’em in the kitchen. *grins, smirks*

I was not intrigued by his immature, blatant attempt at gettin’ some. I was also starting to get hungry since there was no eye candy on display. Meanwhile, Magnum Theo is losing on his quest for a potholder.

Once the sloppy spaghetti and burnt garlic toast was done, he invited me to dine on the roof. Said there was a pool and a great view up there (duh, it’s a roof). We sat poolside, picked over the food, and held standard “first date” convo. I started to yawn. Not only did he quote Diddy twice, but his lisp was starting to sound the elderly pervert from Family Guy. Turned off.

So we went back inside and I reached for my purse to find my keys. He asked, “You’re leaving that quick?” I replied, “Yeah, I gotta catch Chipotle before they close.” Theo insisted, “I mean I can order a pizza, my bad on the dinner HAAAA! C’mon, let’s watch a movie. I got all the classics.” My eyes rolled like my pupils were compass needles looking for north. “Alright.”

I walk over to sit on the bed and Theo is already quoting lines from what he says is his favorite movie. Then, he put “Boomerang” in the DVD player. He did a yeah-Im-about-to-score dance from the TV to the bed, sat down next to me and said, “Oh you didn’t know? This movie is about me! I AM Marcus Graham!!” Roll opening credits. Cue Rhonda’s exit. And no, I won’t text you when I make it home.

I’m driving home thinking–no he didn’t think I was gonna drop my panties for a cheap (disgusting) dinner? Who does that? Wait a minute, I know who does that. The kind of girl who would’ve gotten excited seeing the condoms in the kitchen! Well that ain’t me, but I knew what I was getting into when Theo invited me over. I was just hoping he was a little less whack.com so I could have a juicy story to tell y’all.

*Turns up volume on 100% Ginuwine*

Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt. 1

It’s your typical Friday night in the big city: distant siren sounds, slow side-street traffic, and the smell of Love Spell around every corner.  To many, this is a recipe for disaster, but it seemed like the beginning of an eventful night to me. Boy. Was I right.

I arrived at a popular spot on Highland/Hollywood just before 10 0’oclock. Everybody knows the guest list closes at 10:30P. I stood in line with 3-7 “new friends,” which are pretty women I spark conversations with so it doesn’t appear that I rolled solo. We’re in line shivering and smiling in a huddle, and hoping the doorman picks us next to go in. Now’s a good time to point out how every car at the stoplight turned to a ‘good’ song then blasted their radios. Why do people do that?

At this point it’s 10:45P and I’m randomly texting a girlfriend about the ratchetness I just saw: a stretch Hummer with butterfly doors and at least 12 wheels…each with 24″ rims…pulls in front of us. All the gold-diggers standing outside got quiet. Out jumps a group of bums, pure bums! The girls had on the latest spring fashions from Wet Seal and the guys were in flannel shirts & Timberlands. One of them even had prison-like (aka fuzzy, messy, and crooked) braids. I was waiting to see Snoop emerge from the cloud of smoke behind them, but no. Just an [un-named] NFL player whose birthday party it was.

We finally get inside at the discounted rate of $10 (thanks to the guest list…smh) and of course, the place is near empty. That explains the line out the door.

After maybe 2 songs, I find myself standing near the wall & eyeing the men in the room. This was by far the tallest collection of guys in LA I’ve ever seen. Guy #1 approaches me with a classic don’t-you-wanna-let-me-dance-behind-you attitude while sipping his drink. I veered right. He says, “Aw, don’t be like that!” I simply gave a ‘no thanks’ through what was left of my lips since his breath had just melted my face. No. Thanks.

Minutes later, Guy #2 comes up to me to ask am I having a good time. I shook my head, “I’m not feeling this DJ, I don’t dance to Yung Berg.” This somewhat handsome dude smiled, “Well I’m having a 90s party next weekend, you should come through. I do party promotions.” If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you kindly accept the flyer and they go away! I stuffed it way down into my purse.

Once the Wobble and Cupid Shuffle songs got me going, my ankles started talking. It’s time to sit down. As I’m resting on a couch in the VIP section (did you really think anyone would be in VIP?), Guy #3 strolls by, stops, and reverses. He is at least 6-feet and some change, but I couldn’t tell how much change while sitting. He’s actually quite attractive, too. He reached out his hand, “Um, please tell me why a beautiful lady like you is all by herself?” I pointed to my shoes, “Gotta give these feet a rest.” He’s still holding my hand, I’m somewhat charmed. Guy #3 is a bouncer and his suit/tie look was very refreshing to me.

A few seconds later, he says he’d like to get to know me better and I should enter my number in his phone. Handed me his Blackberry. Now, I’m more charmed by Guy #3. Third time’s a charm, right?

I ended the night by heading to the bar for a nice glass of water and my last shot at these tall dudes. Not even a full minute goes by as I place the straw to my mouth–Guy #4 is staring me up and down. He’s also 3-inches too close to me and I’m getting upset. By the look of his bloodshot red eyes and flannel shirt, whatever he’s about to say will be classic.

“Ay. You got ass, though.”

That was it. I gave a nod, turned back around and faced the bartender. He’s still talking to the back of my head about how he’s from Kansas City and here in LA to have a good time this weekend. And asked for my number. But I knew Guy #4 wouldn’t walk away without a fight. I grabbed his phone from his hand, typed 310-555-1134 under new contact ‘Terri’ and told him to call me anytime. He smiled and walked away.

–Read “Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt.2″ for the rest!!!

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