S2ep1: Hella Messed Up
This is messed up.
Issa messed up.
What she did was messed up.
Who she did it to was messed up.
Who she did it with was messed up.
What she's going through (as the negative consequence of her infidelity) is messed up.
I feel for my girl, y'all. And dare I say it, she still doesn't deserve this type of shunning from Lawrence. Yeah. I said it.
No, I am not high or delusional.
I just shamelessly admitted that what my girl (in my head) did was wrong...HOWEVER, after the long years and countless amount of time she wasted supporting Lawrence's lackluster app dream while he wasted away on their bouch...let's just call her cheating glitch "getting reparations".
SUE ME. (not really; I have no monies.)
Issa was with Lawrence, shooting in the gym, even after/when he benched himself. Lawrence is a waste of time who's not going to realize that he is until it's too late...oh, wait. He can't even clock the fact that Issa cheated because she felt like there was nothing at home for her. Isn't that the same played logic (y)our exes, brothers, uncles, daddies, baby-daddies as used to justify their own disloyalty to us?
AND HOW IS HE GON JUST BEAT DOWN MY GIRL'S BLOCK LIKE THAT (for ten seconds, might I add...) WITHOUT WARNING?? NOT EVEN A SMOKE SIGNAL THAT IT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN?! AND THEN TO JUST LEAVE??
Oh. No. He could've gone the alternative route...
*start Issa dream sequence*
I, um... I don't know what happened. How it got this far, but—
Lawrence, look. I'm sorry. So so sorry for what I did. You didn't deserve that. How can I fix this?
I don't know, Issa. You can't. You hurt me. I thought we were in this forever—
We are! I just made a mistake. Just once. But, this? Us? We're no mistake. I love you, Lawrence.
I love you too, Issa.
—begin incredibly intense HBO sex scene—
*end Issa dream sequence*
See how simple and honest that was?? And everyone still gets their pearls polished in the end. But, no.
So, wipe that self-satisfied grin off your face, Issa, girl. Because, once again...*cues DJ Khaled voice*:
You played yourself.
P.S.: I'm not here for Molly faking therapy like this, but I know that's just my clinical/mental health counselor-training petty coming through.
P.P.S.: Still can't stand a THING about Tasha. Somebody get your sweet, hood-adjacent homegirl. I'm sick.
Okay, y'all! See you next week. It looks like it's gon' be A.LOT.