Lena Dunham is my Ike Turner*

May 23, 2013 by PinotNinja 83 Comments

I am in an abusive relationship.

It’s with Girls.

Sorry ladies, but you’re no good for me.

On paper, Girls and I are perfect for each other. People whose opinions I trust rave about it. It wins awards. I worship everything else that Judd Apatow has touched. I constantly find myself in awkward situations. And, just like the characters, I spent my 20s scraping by in Brooklyn.

Girls should be my jam.

But, its not.

If we’re being truthy, I can barely stand to watch it. The characters alternately infuriate and repulse me. I want to smack all four of them upside the head, show them what a flattering outfit looks like, teach them some basic manners and courtesy, and then put them on a train out of my beloved Brooklyn because, even more than the mustachioed mandolin-toting hipsters who flooded my hood and drove up my rent, they do not deserve to be there. And don’t even get me started on the overly complicated self-centered awkward situations that they insist on creating for themselves over and over again. Just stop it already. Just stop.

Let’s take episode 5 of this past season as an example.

That is the one where Hannah illegally dumps trash in someone’s front yard because that’s more fun than putting it in the dumpster of the coffee shop where she works, and then, when she goes to admit her wrongs to the owner of the front yard where she send her trash to die, Hannah ends up just wandering into his house. Even though he is a total stranger. Even though she realizes that she should know better.

And Hannah did all of this in a heinous romper. For the LOVE OF GOD, you are not a toddler. Do not wear a romper. It is not a good look on anyone. What’s wrong with a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. You can even pair it with woven saddle shoes or Keds if you must.

Then, Hannah sleeps with Mr. Stranger Danger even though he is sort-of married. Apparently, this is what you do after you’ve barged into the house of a stranger who you have spent the past few weeks harassing with your weird trash relocation penchant

By this point, I was actually screaming at my television. I yelled at Hannah to get out of the house like she was a starlet in a D-list horror movie.

She didn’t listen.

Miraculously, Mr. Stranger Danger was not Ted Bundy. He turned out to be a somewhat functional and respectful interlude in Hannah’s otherwise disastrous love life

I almost regained my composure, but then I got hit with another wave of brutality. What is up with the topless ping pong scene? No one ever needs to see anyone playing topless ping pong. Ever. It is unquestionably bad naked.

And then Hannah served up a 1-2 punch. After Mr. Stranger Danger saved her from a near-death incident in his steam shower, she insisted on dumping all over what, despite my initial suspicions, had turned out to be a lovely time. Why did she insist on monologuing endlessly and meanly way past the point of no return? What was happening?

At this point I was standing up and gesturing at my television while I shouted “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN YOU NOT JUST ENJOY A MOMENT! JUST ONE! JUST TAKE IT IN!”

By the time the episode ended, I was filed with frustration and anxiety. I was also angry because I knew that I had just given myself at least 5 new wrinkles from squinting and cringing for 30 straight minutes. I do not like new wrinkles.

As I do at the end of every episode, I vowed that I was going to leave Girls.

We were finished.

I was packing my things and going.

I would not stand for this abuse any longer.

But then, just as I was about to walk away, Girls told me that it loves me. Girls made me believe that it would never do it again.

You see, I watch Girls using On Demand. At the end of every On Demand episode there is an Inside the Episode with Lena Dunham. During these three minutes, Lena explains why she did certain things and provides insights into the characters. By the time she is done, I am in love with Girls. Lena is smart and witty. She’s creative and thoughtful. She has an important message and point of view. I cannot wait to see what she’s going to do next.

I convince myself that Girls is not really who I thought it was and that it totally deserves a second chance.

I take Girls back and blame myself for all of our problems. It’s my fault. I just didn’t try hard enough to get it.

Lena’s that good. See for yourself:

But then, next week, Girls smacks me right across the face again. I’m left screaming at my television in a rage and vowing that this really is the last time that I will come back to the show.

And, then I watch Inside the Episode and we reconcile.

Will I ever break the cycle?

*Yes, I have cast myself as Tina Turner in this metaphor. This is completely accurate because, at least in my mind, I am this bad ass: