That’s so two weeks ago — Last week’s Grey’s was pre-empted by this fine country’s vice-presidential debate, so here’s a review of the season premiere, in case the memory of it is as distant as Sarah Palin’s chances of ever being qualified to hang a moose head in the Roosevelt Room of White House.
Meredith decided to enter the fray of the Up-Down Toilet Seat Wars and asked Derek to move in with her. George was girding his loins to re-take his intern test, and failed to notice his pal Lexie’s ginormous crush on him, despite the squishy noises she makes while walking next to him during rounds.
Speaking of gross, Izzie watched on with disgust and envy as Alex oiled the revolving skank door on his bedroom. Meanwhile, Cristina told Meredith her relationship with McDreamy didn’t have an icicle’s chance in hell, and was promptly impaled by one.
That old windbag, the Chief, ran around the joint, blustery and pig-headed as usual, leaving everything just a little worse than when he found it. No wonder Seattle Grace Hospital is ranked at number 12 with a bullet (aimed at the ground.)
And if you sat through all of that, you know that Callie and Erica had a whopping four-minute conversation about being lesbian virgins, but not in a Suze Orman kind of a way. They’re excited and scared and clueless, but you know what? They decide that’s OK because they’re going to hold hands as they ride that tunnel of love slash roller coaster also known as same-sex dating.
Keep your hands inside the car at all times, girls.
A note from your humble recapper — Before this season started, there was a lot of buzz about Erica and Callie entering into a relationship – not a lame sweeps hook-up, but a real exploration into what happens when two formerly hetero women find themselves staring at each other’s lips.
But we’re off to a slow start, aren’t we? The two-hour season premiere featured a scant few minutes of Callica, which frankly, is the only reason we’re recapping this show. Hello. We’re AfterEllen.com. We’re gay. Nice to meet you.
That said, this week starts a new Grey’s recapping format: Full coverage of Erica and Callie, lots about that other lesbian couple, Meredith and Cristina, and a recap gangsta drive-by on everything else. Hope that’s OK with your guys. And so, without further ado, grab your cat, put your feet up, take your pants off – here is this week’s recap.
The rules have changed — Meredith is upstairs in the hospital, breaking up with her in-house shrink, Dr. Wyatt (played by Amy Madigan, television’s answer to Cherry Jones) because she’s decided she no longer needs the mental health services of anyone other than Cristina.
Meredith feels cured because she’s had a breakthrough and taken her relationship to the next level: co-habitation. "The breaking point is our starting line," she says.
I’m not sure, because I don’t do therapy, but I think having your boyfriend move in with you is probably when you should start therapy, not end it.
Dr. Wyatt tries to explain this concept to her impatient patient, but Meredith’s late for one of the Chief’s grandiose speeches and has to dash. Thanks for all the good advice. She’ll give that whole "emotionally withholding mother" thing some thought. Buh-bye.
Meanwhile, at Meredith’s house, Izzie finds Derek in her room with a tape measure. Apparently, he’s planning to convert her bedroom into his office when she "moves out," which is news to Izzie. Izzie runs off to tell Alex there’s an eviction afoot, but he’s in bed with yet another bimbo, who cheerily invites Izzie to join them. She is a keeper.
A while later, everyone’s at work. In the hallway, there’s a confluence of housemates: Meredith, Derek, Izzie and Alex. Derek wants to know if Frick and Frack need help packing. Izzie tries to bribe Meredith with some home-baked muffin-y goodness. Alex asks tersely if he needs to start packing his Penthouses or what?
Meredith doesn’t have any answers, because she’s been blindsided by Derek. Drunk with in-door plumbing power, McPresumey never consulted her about having the house to themselves.
And we all know what happens when you assume. You make an ass out of you and, well, just you.