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.

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