So, I’m super excited about Thursday night television, right? ABC might be my answer to shutting that portal of suckage, albeit temporarily, swung wide open by Aunty Ass-face last night. Is there any better therapy than a night spent watching the season premieres of Ugly Betty, Grey’s Anatomy, and ER*. Yah, so ER is on NBC, but who cares. I was ready for (mostly--read asterisked note below) excellent television, dammit.
As usual, Ugly Betty delivered campy comedic perfection wrapped around a gooey, heartfelt, and genuine center. I started watching it a half an hour after the show started, so that I could fast forward through the commercials. It was wonderful. I was at peace (long live DVR).
At 9:30, after finishing up with Ugly Betty, I started to watch Grey’s Anatomy. The first hour was fantastic, wrought with trauma—emotional as well as physical—and that great big helping of neuroses that we’ve all come to know and love.
But then, my mother** sat down between Zanadune and me to watch the second half of Grey’s Anatomy. And, boy, did the running commentary start it’s 30-minute dash:
Amma (sighing): That could’ve been you.
Me (distracted, confused): Meredith Grey? I could’ve been Meredith Grey?
Amma (sighing): You could’ve been a surgeon. And you would’ve looked way more beautiful than that woman in scrubs.
Ignoring her, I return to the show and a period of silence between us ensues...
Amma (sighing again, pointing at the screen): Sabila, you would’ve been around surgeons like that all day! All day!
Me (looking from her to the screen and back at her again): Patrick Dempsey and Eric Dane? Hate to break it to you, amma, but not all surgeons are quite as hot as Hollywood actors.
Amma: Trust me, a lot of them are.
Me (under my breath): Yeah, like on the set of a television drama.
I get caught up in the show again until,
Amma: That could’ve been you…you would’ve enjoyed delivering babies, reattaching severed arms…and meeting such nice, eligible surgeons for marriage!
Me: Amma, T.R. Knight is gay.
Amma: REALLY? Huh.
And after another while…
Amma: Are you just saying that?
Me: No Amma, he came out of the closet last year. Can we watch the show now? Please?
This went on, back and forth, from scene to scene. And then we get to Shepard and Meredith, finally "talking" about their relationship status in that sex closet, or whatever the hell it is, of theirs (doesn’t everyone at Seattle Grace have sex in that closet?).
So, they’re not having sex as of yet, and my mom is going on and on.
Amma: Just imagine it Sabila. Imagine yourself there, where that woman doctor is. That’s where you would’ve been, having these important discussions with this very handsome male doctor.
Me (sighing, whining): Amaaaaa. I’m not a surgeon. Life isn’t Grey’s Anatomy. If it was, I would’ve ended up sleeping with every other surgeon on the show and I don’t think you would’ve liked that very much.
Amma (totally ignoring me now): Just imagine though. That would’ve been you—
(except now, Derek and Meredith are going at it, just like they always end up going at it in that sex closet)
Amma:…you would’ve met a handsome doctor like that, married him, and then this (pointing to the television) would’ve been fine. We would’ve let this happen.
I have to give it to my mother. She didn’t miss a beat when the sex scene interrupted her nice, halal reveries of what it would’ve been like had I been a surgeon on ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy. And, in spite of not being able to give the wondrous second half of the third season’s premiere my undivided attention, I was practically falling off the sofa, laughing.
Then, as Ellen Pompeo’s voice over tied the episode together, and Izzy, eating ice cream went to answer the door to find George on the other side, my stupid DVR recording ended! THAT’S when the portal of suckage reopened, reader. And it sucked! Anyone care to tell me what happened next?
*Yes, I’m still on that sinking ER ship but I swear to goodness I have one big toe in the ocean, meaning I realize the NBC melodrama jumped the shark, like six seasons ago but rest assured that my level of commitment is limited to DVR’ing the show and then fast forwarding with an always fast-diminishing hope that they’ll come up with something that I want to watch.
**For the record, I realize the tone of this post has been super melodramatic an annoyed but just know that my mother is a comedian at heart; truly she is. She isn't serious about half of the things she says. I couldn’t keep a straight face even as Izzy was working to save that poor nearly road-killed deer.