Just Des[s]erts

Ooh, another good episode of Grey’s Anatomy—we’re on a roll. Eagerly awaiting the fallout from last week’s sex fiasco, in a twist we get a voiceover from George rather than Meredith. Admittedly, the voiceover is as retarded as always—this time containing helpful hints about karma management in one’s daily life. Even the best of us make bad-karma decisions that we know we’re gonna regret—like punching that Franciscan nun during the 2004 Puerto Rican Day parade. Long story.

In their rustic mountain trailer, the Shepherds are awoken by the dog barking since it has to go out and shit all over the lawn. She-Shepherd volunteers for duty so her soon-to-be-ex-husband can sleep. That is, unless he wants to have a nice discussion about breakup and adultery, just to start the day on the right foot. She even offers to let him yell at her as much as he wants, but he declines since he gave up S&M for Lent. So She-Shepherd puts on her flapped hunting cap—seriously, the look is like Goofy meets Maureen Dowd—and goes to walk the dog.At the interns’ house, Meredith listens through her door to make sure George isn’t out in the hall. Despite her efforts, they run into each other and are saved from awkwardness only by a shirtless Alex hopping frantically from Izzie’s door to the bathroom with a wet spot forming at his crotch, like Fergie at that one concert. Izzie comes out and says good morning, which elicits only deafening silence. She says FINE, she slept with Alex again, she’s a big whore, a big horny whore who can’t get enough so could we get over the shocked silence already. Ha, I love how she’s appointed herself both the Billy Graham and the Mae West of the intern corps. Meredith and George flee, leaving Izzie conused. She goes to consult her sock puppets for advice.

“Anybody have any Astroglide? Cause lordy I am fresh out.”

At the hospital, everyone notices the tension between Meredith and George and wonders what the hell happened. George and Meredith issue repeated denials, but they’re about as convincing as denials issued by, say, Clay Aiken.

Burke’s first patient has had chest pains and possibly a heart attack. A scan indicates that he has a large mass around his heart, but his wife insists that he’s healthy as a horse, and certainly hung like one. Nonetheless, Burke wants to do an angiogram. The patient looks like Jeroen Krabbé but lacks the generic international villain accent, so I have no idea who the hell it is. Blast those tricky Dutchmen.

Out in the SGH Middle School hallway, George asks Cristina whether Meredith has said anything to her about anything. Nope. Fortunately, the conversation breaks off when Dr. She-Shepherd walks by, fidgeting and picking at her undercarriage like she has ants in her nylons or maybe just in her cooter.

Dr. He-Shepherd’s patient is an eleven-year-old who got hit on the head during a little league game and has been throwing up ever since. Yeah, that pretty much sums up my childhood. At this point the writers take the opportunity to explore yet another new stereotype—we’ve had pregnant black teens, domineering Asian mothers, and now the ever-entertaining fussy gay parents. To be fair, one of the dads is pretty grounded, but the other—clearly the bottom—more than makes up for it by maintaining constant lispy hysterics. In any case, He-Shepherd schedules brain scans aplenty to see whether the kid simply has a concussion or is headed for the short bus.

Dr. She-Shepherd, still fidgeting like Katharine Hepburn, catches Mr. Bailey in the hall and demands that he locate his wife so she can have a private consult. Our favorite flavaful resident protests that she’s away on maternity leave, but She-Shepherd insists. So the two of them snag a room, and She-Shepherd puts her stilettos up in the stirrups for a little vajayjay time. It turns out she has poison oak “where nobody wants to have poison oak”—yep, right on her lady bits.

“Girl, you might consider using the hedge clippers once in a while”

In the O.R., Cristina demands that George stop pouting. He claims he isn’t, but Cristina says it’s so obvious that she can feel him pouting without even looking. Besides, Meredith would never do anything mean on purpose, so he should get over it already. Burke chides Cristina for not being nice; she says well FUCK YOU she’s not a nice person. George insists that if Cristina knew what Meredith did, she’d understand. Cristina says she just wants to concentrate on her salad. Oh wait no that was Martha Stewart.

Anyway, turns out the patient has a huge aneurysm with a fistula into one of his heart chambers. Ah, the old aneurysm-fistula combo. Brings back memories. The patient asks whether it’s easy to fix. Before Burke can answer, the patient’s fiancée cuts in to inform him that they’re getting married soon and that Burke’s ominous look is setting off her ominousdar and is incompatible with her glass-half-full kind of lifestyle. Burke says they can try to fix the aneurysm, but there’s a high chance it could rupture. But then again the thing will go ahead and rupture someday anyway, so it’s sixes either way. Outside, George mumbles incoherently that such a nice couple doesn’t deserve this—the universe operates via karma and there should always be some sort of balance. Burke wonders aloud what the hell did Meredith do to him.

He-Shepherd’s head-injury kid has slight brain bleeding but should be fine. Nonetheless, the fussy gay father starts freaking out again, worrying that the kid will lose IQ points—I mean apparently you need a Mensa card even to qualify for The Apprentice these days—and says they should sue the little dipshit that hit their kid with the baseball. Hmm, fussy AND litigious? This guy should take a job as Catherine Zeta-Jones’s hairdresser. Fortunately, the other dad calms his partner down by putting on a Deborah Cox album and whipping out his Aveda travel pack for a quick emergency facial.

“Umm it’s not flannel, it’s deconstructed flannel”

Alex pages Izzie to the ambulance arrival area so he can give her a cupcake—no, not the celebrated sexual maneuver but just a literal cupcake. He asks whether she’s free after work—she thinks so, which means another two or three value packs of Trojans down the shitter. Their confectionary reverie is interrupted when an ambulance arrives containing Denny, Izzie’s heart patient/crush from a few weeks ago. Izzie goes straight into crisis mode, trying to come up with every possible drug treatment and herbal remedy she can think of, all in the span of about a half second. Burke calms her down with a well timed, professionally executed pimp-slap.

Cristina asks aneurysm guy and his wife whether they’ve decided about the surgery. He reples that they’re thinking maybe they should wait til after the wedding. Cristina scorns this answer: his condition is so unstable that he’ll seem okay until one day he suddenly up and dies—it’s just a matter of time. This rosy bedside manner shocks the patient but seems to get through to him. Cristina says yes, the surgery’s risky, but Dr. Burke is a great surgeon—not to mention a great lay—so he’s their very best chance.

Speaking of, Burke asks Izzie if she’s okay, seeing as she’s so close with Denny. Like George, she’s pissed at cruel mistress karma, complaining that it’s unfair for so many jerks to go home totally healthy while a nice guy like Denny keeps going through hearts like Dick Cheney. Burke angles for a little info about how much Izzie really likes this patient, but Izzie fudges a non-answer.

Dr. Bailey, meanwhile, applies an icepack to She-Shepherd’s squirrel trap and asks how the whole poison oak thing happened in the first place. She-Shepherd it’s her karma boomerang coming back to hit her in the coochie in return for her affair with Sloan. Anyway, while she was walking Meredith’s old dog in the morning, she herself had to pee, so she decided to go doggy-style and just squat in the woods and use the prettiest shiniest leaves she could find to wipe up.

As She-Shepherd tells the story, she starts crying, which is annoying as shit. Broadly played indeed! I’d say she was the worst fake-cryer in this episode, BUT NO that’d be wrong, because as we see later, we’re playing in the POMPEO LEAGUES, BITCHES. Fake or not, the crying sets off Dr. Bailey’s lactating reflex. Dr. Webber knocks at the door and asks what the hell is going on in there. To parry his offensive, Bailey gives him a flash of her slippery nipples. Webber immediately apologizes and tells her to carry on with the, you know, 2% SQUIRTING OUT OF HER BOOBS.

“Damnit, I left the high-beams on again”

Dr. He-Shepherd realizes he needs to drill a small hole in head injury kid’s skull to relieve some pressure from the swelling. The fussy father refuses to leave. The drilling seems to help things, and all seems calm for a little bit until the father pukes all over the floor and some nurse. NICE. We haven’t had spirited onscreen vomiting since the Christmas episode—good times, good times.

Izzie’s patient, Denny, is fibrillating like a madman but wakes up for just long enough to starts flirting with Izzie shamlessly. They whip out those fun defibrillator paddles to shock his heart into submission. Anyway, gleeful torturer Alex, jealous of Denny, asks to handle the paddles so he send 20 million volts of pure revenge into this guy. What’s up STALIN. Anyway, the paddles work, and the fibrillation is duly defibrillized.

Dr. He-Shepherd, meanwhile, is pissed that his wife isn’t answering his pages. He confronts Dr. Bailey and asks where she is, but Bailey clams up. Shepherd says he saved her husband’s life for god’s sake, so she owes him one—but she retorts that She-Shepherd saved her baby, so THERE. He-Shepherd is shocked: so baby trumps husband? Indeed it does. Ooh medical rock-paper-scissors equivalents. Lung-spleen-pancreas! Rectum-sphincter-cornea! Rickets-goiter-lupus! I could play this for days.

George and Meredith have another awkward non-conversation in the hallway, which Meredith flat-out flees. George goes to get some coffee in a lounge, where he runs into the aneurysm patient’s frigid wedding-obsessed fiancée, who doesn’t give two shits about his surgery but instead is obsessing over her wedding receipts, of all things. She mentions to George that people have wonderful fantasies about how their lives might play out, but none of said fantasies involve everything ending in the blink of an eye. George knows this all too well, seeing as his “prematurity” problem ended his sex romp with Meredith faster than you can say hugemistake.

In another of these lounges, Meredith is sitting in her default posture of hunched misery. Alex comes in and jokingly says hey, so she slept with George, get over it already. Meredith falls right in the trap and blurts out “He told you?!??!?” Actually Alex was just kidding, but in any case it doesn’t surprise him—cause when Meredith’s life sucks she always gets drunk and sleeps with inappropriate men. That’s just her “thing”—between that and her bony, kabuki-mask face, she’s charming! Unfortunately, George walks in on the tail end of this conversation and overhears everything Meredith has said.

George flips out and bolts for the stairwell, but Meredith follows, as do all the other interns, who have MIRACULOUSLY ended up in the same little hallway at the same time. Meredith asks George if they can at least talk—he refuses and says the only reason she wants to talk about it now is cause she’s already told everyone that they had SEX. Instantly, all the other interns stop in their tracks like OMG you had SEX?!? LIKE THE McNASTY??!? Anyway George assumed wrongly that Meredith had run her mouth, so once again he’s shot himself in the foot. He’s so upset he trips and falls all the way down the stairs, right on his shoulder. Alex, of course, gets a good laugh out of all this.

Afterward, George sits in an examining room, while the other interns wait outside, drawing battle lines left and right. Izzie warns that if Meredith can’t make this right, she’s firmly in George’s camp if it comes to choosing sides. Ouch, lost the crucial wholesome-farmgirl vote! Even Cristina seems mildly shocked by George’s revelation, saying that George is the weaker kid, and even SHE doesn’t beat up on weaker kids cause it’s a cheap thing to do. Meredith admits she did a terrible thing, but Cristina says it’s more than that—George has been in love with her since day one and there’s no way she didn’t know that.

The door to George’s examining room opens, and

O
M
G

the doctor examining him turns out to be none other than Sara Ramirez, of Spamalot fame. Longtime TVgasm readers who happened to catch our Tony awards recap from last year know that I nearly shat myself—I mean really, like nearly ruined some upholstery—over the coolness of this woman and her giant breasts. Her casting could be the best thing to happen to this show in a long time. Frankly, George will never be able to handle this woman and her giant, gargantuan, humungous, buxom breasts. Incidentally, she also has an amazing singing voice, which I’m sure they’ll write in via a musical fantasy sequence or, at the very least, a karaoke night over at Christina Ricci’s place.

Anyway, George has dislocated his shoulder, which means we’ll get one of those great pop-it-back-in scenes. The lusty doctor, who recognizes George from his heart-surgery-in-the-elevator incident earlier this season, is clearly into him. She asks what happened, then distracts him with some questions about whether he has a girlfriend before—SNAP—popping his shoulder back in when he leasts expects it. Damn this woman is good—she gets vital scoping info and attains medical endpoints ALL AT ONCE. Finally, she slaps his arm into a sling, making sure to shove her big old knockers right in his face, and sends him on his way.

“¿Hey papi you ready for some melones?”

Meredith and He-Shepherd end up together in the elevator. She tells him not to be nice to her, because she did a terrible, terrible thing that’s probably gonna cost her all of her friends. He-Shepherd says he won’t lose her as a friend; Meredith says they can’t be friends anymore. Despite his repeated assertions that he could be a very good friend—maybe even one WITH BENEFITS MHMM?—she insists that it’s impossible. He-Shepherd persists, inviting her to go hiking up the mountain behind his trailer sometime. Sounds like a great idea!

Izzie is pleased to report to Denny that his atrial fibrillation has improved. He says he likes the way she says “fibrillation.” She offers to say a few more sexy words, such as “nail fungus” and “colonoscopy.” Denny says she must be his good karma. Alex watches jealously as all this transpires.

Dr. Bailey pages He-Shepherd to Itchyvaginaville because his wife finally wants to talk to him. They keep the curtain drawn, so She-Shepherd shouts over it that she’s got poison oak. Dramatically, she opens the curtain and exposes her cooter to him. Damn, she likes flashing that thing more than Sharon Stone. He-Shepherd, enjoying the moment thoroughly, says she does indeed have poison oak. She asks whether she’s finally repaid her debt to society for sleeping with Sloan or does she have to get CHICKEN POX AND ECZEMA DOWN THERE TOO FOR GOD’S SAKE. He-Shepherd bursts out laughing, and she throws the pillow at him. For once they actually seem to be having a good time.

Results after one day of creatine loading and GNC UltraMass Weight Gainer

Outside, Dr. Bailey is carrying her baby around. Okay, unless I’m going blind, this is definitely not the same baby she had last week. Memo to producers: NOT ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE CLONES. George whines to Cristina about his and Meredith’s rendezvous-gone-awry. Cristina tells him that the pity thing is annoying as shit and that if he wants crappy things to stop happening to him he needs to sack up and stop being a doormat. George and Cristina then catch the aneurysm patient’s wife sneaking off, saying she has to leave the hospital because she’s “weak” and “just not good with this kind of stuff.” Cristina reminds the woman that her marriage vows include the whole bit about in sickness and in health, but the woman says not anymore—she’s called the whole thing off. She keeps making excuses and finally just walks out.

As George sits up in the gallery observing the aneurysm-repair surgery, nurse Olivia, her face by now unrecognizably scarred by the syphilis that she will carry with her to her grave as a constant reminder of her sexual profligacy, comes in and they talk. Olivia says that the aneurysm guy looks like he dodged a bullet when the fiancée left—if the woman can’t love him back the way he loves her, then she doesn’t deserve him. Ooh MEMO TO GEORGE. Olivia says she heard about George and Meredith and is sorry that he must be feeling like shit. And if it’s any consolation, her pearly gates, or whatever’s left of them, are open to him anytime. George says he’s sorry if his own rejection of Olivia made her feel remotely as bad Meredith’s made him feel now. Awww… still a doormat.

Back at home, George starts packing up his clothes to move out of Meredith’s house. We then have the obligatory flashback of he and Meredith actually doing the dirty deed. Needless to say, it isn’t pretty. After, uh, “finishing,” George asks Meredith how it was. She claims it was good, but her panicked, OMG-the-Botox-froze-my-face expression says otherwise. She keeps crying and trying to cover it up by smiling, but the Botox renders all such efforts futile. This is the awkwardest sex moment ever—and made far worse by the fact that Ellen Pompeo is now officially the worst fake cryer ever. Her acting here really is shockingly bad—even Paula Abdul is more convincing.

Meredith always wows the bachelors with her “O face”

George is wounded by Meredith’s hysterics and asks her whether sleeping with him is really that awful for her. He jumps out of bed and flees. Later, he ventures back into Meredith’s room to retrieve his shirt, and Meredith confronts him at the door. George asks why she agreed to pet his trouser snake if she didn’t want to. She says she didn’t know what she wanted until the deed actually happened—but George was there and saying perfect things and so she thought maybe she’d just been overlooking what was in front of her the whole time since he’s George and he’s so great and he has a huge head and you know what they say about guys who have huge heads. In short, she didn’t know she didn’t want to til she knew she didn’t want to—and moreover, when there are known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns, damned if a girl just doesn’t know what to do. Actually, Meredith simply asks George whether they can’t just go back to the way things were and be friends. George says no way, they’re done.

As the episode winds down, George starts talking in voiceover about karma once again. In the locker room, Alex confirms with Izzie that they had plans for the night, but she says she forgot and would like to take a rain check. Dr. Burke’s patient, meanwhile, seems to be fine after the aneurysm repair. Burke breaks the news to the guy that his fiancée left, but says the surgery was a success and that’s what’s important. The poor guy can’t believe his fiancée really is gone. I wonder what happened to his fiancée. Has anyone seen his fiancée? Oh, he has lost his fiancée, the poor baby! Actually, it’s pretty sad, since the patient can’t believe she really left.

Blueballing Alex, Izzie opts instead for a romantic bedside meal with Denny and brings him two Grand Slam Breakfasts and one of those Moons Over My Hammy, all for just $4.99 for a limited time. He loves this first date and is really flattered when she says he’s cute—she tells him to shut up and drink his juice. They’re fun to watch together.

Outside in the parking lot, George’s new doctor—whose name turns out to be Dr. Callie Torres—gives him her número de teléfono and says that her giant breasts are available for a free, no-obligation, 30-day in-home trial. George then heads to his new home at Burke’s, where he seems to be crashing until further notice, much against Cristina’s will. Finally, we see Meredith and He-Shepherd tempting karma once again by playing with the dog up in the woods behind the trailer. “Just friends” my ass.

Once again, I thought this was a great episode, and I’m especially giddy that Sara Ramirez has showed up. Ellen Pompeo, however, really needs a crying coach—if you have any suggestions beyond Sally Field or Shelley Duvall, please submit below.