I love Girls; I really do. I love it so much that I actually stayed up until 5am this morning, Paris time, just so I could stream it and be in the know with my East Coast buddies. I’ll admit it: It’s an addiction. I quote lines from it on both Twitter and my Facebook wall constantly, and I think it’s just great. But then last night something happened, and I recoiled back from the screen in ways I hadn’t done before during any episode, and we all know some of those scenes can be pretty fucking awkward.
SPOILER ALERT SO LOOK AWAY IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOST RECENT EPISODE.
We could get into the fact that Hannah was a whole new level of dramatic when she called 911 on Adam for coming to her house, especially considering the way she pulled the same shit all last season. We could discuss that we’ll never be able to think of bathing a pig the same way again thanks to Shosh and Ray, but why ruin that adorable moment? There was also the stellar scene between Hannah and Marnie as they discussed “pretty people” jobs while Hannah made her way through a tub of Cool-Whip, but that’s all the good stuff, and you can come up with your own recaps. I want to talk about the moment where you couldn’t help but yell at the TV: “What the fucking fuck, Hannah?”
After an insanely, ridiculous political and racially-charged debate, if we can call it that, which included a Missy Elliot line from Hannah’s end, and obviously stemmed from the fact that her Republican boyfriend/lover/fuck buddy of the moment, Sandy, didn’t like her essay, the following exchange took place:
Hannah: “Do you wanna have sex still?”
Hannah: “I didn’t feel like it either. I just didn’t want you to have blue balls, because that’s another thing I don’t believe in.”
This, mind you, after Sandy had already asked her to leave his apartment.
What on earth would make someone ask such a question after that type of heated and, honestly, mostly ignorant (from Hannah’s side) argument? It wasn’t like we were watching the usual cutesy oh-that-happened-to-me-once type of train wreck, but more like a 10 train pile-up in which there are no survivors. It. Was. Absurd. And in being so absurd, it circled back around to the ongoing discussion on the Internets regarding just how “real” and “awkward” the sex on Girls is.
As I yelled at the screen, demanding that Lena Dunham take back the words she had written, I realized something: “Holy fuck. How many times did I get into an intense fight with someone I was dating in my 20’s, then asked if they still wanted to have sex?” A lot; as in probably all the time. It wasn’t about make-up sex; it was about simply getting laid and the act of fucking. I can’t explain it, but that’s all it was. And, just as with Hannah, I was always turned down by the guy in the situation in those moments.
Even now, a little older and barely any wiser, I can’t explain why my brain immediately went to having sex after something like that. Was I trying to mull it all over? Did I feel obligated to spare the fella in the equation from blue balls although the likelihood of blue balls even being an issue at that point was non-existent? I don’t know.
All I do know is that in addition to lurching back from my computer and shrieking, I blushed, too. I blushed at the 26-year-old me on the screen in all her ludicrous awkwardness and illogical behavior. I blushed because, my fucking god, Lena, spare me from my past. Wandering the streets of Bushwick fucked-up in my underwear is one thing, but this time she really out did herself in the nonsense category.
Did anyone else feel the same way last night?