oops, i did it again!

So last night, with homework finally done and peace in the land once again brokered, I sat down prepared to soak in the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy, which I was looking forward to because my Tool Man and I spent a recent weekend watching 17 episodes from last season that were clogging our DVR. Before you say anything, just let me say I know. I know that Grey's Anatomy is hardly Shakespeare. I know it's ripe with trite moments, and seriously, believe me, I have paused the action plenty of times to question how it is doctors have so much time to sleep with one another in tiny closets throughout Seattle Grace. Don't even get me started on how amazing it is that they're also always able to schedule surgeries for the very same day and that complicated brain surgeries take mere minutes.

I know. Because it's a television show. "It's not real, honey," is what I always say to Tool Man when he goes off on one of his science fiction programs, though I do think there would be something oddly satisfying about knowing there could be a mega shark terrorizing the oceans.

Anyway, long story short, my night was set. Until I turned the TV, fired up the DVR, and discovered no McDreamy. None. Because my very own McDreamy had chosen to record two different shows at the same time Grey's Anatomy was broadcast. Like those 17 hours (14 1/2 if you count fast forwarding through the commercials) we'd spent like slugs on our couch a couple weekends ago meant nothing to him. Needless to say, this made me want to be entirely angsty like a fictional television doctor, and perhaps preface and end my rant with a thoughtful voice over.

Tool Man, of course, pretended he forgot how to cancel a previously set recording on the DVR in order for Grey's Anatomy to be recorded. Thanks to the knowledge I have gleaned from that medical drama, I was able to diagnose him with something called "Convenient Amnesia Because You Have To Watch That Stupid Show 'Supernatural'." He's just lucky this doesn't require removing a portion of his frontal lobe.

Alas, it also isn't cured with sex in the linen closet, either.

Well, it might, but I don't think it would be covered under his insurance.

So my night, while not ruined, left me a little dejected. Would have been a perfect time to maybe write a post here, but I think I have a case of serious writer's block that may be incurable. At the very least, it may involve a complicated series of tense and down to the wire organ donations.

However, that doesn't mean I haven't been writing at all! Remember a couple weeks ago when I shared one or 18 links to Polite Fiction and the chunk of a growing story there that I had written? Well, guess what? I'm there again today! Have you been reading along? Oh, you should! There are some really damn fantastic writers there, and then there's me. We'd love if you read and chimed in with your thoughts. Do you see that totally kick ass button for Polite Fiction over there to the left? Click on it. It'll take you to a world of mystery, intrigue, and veiled baking references. And cursing. Yes. Remember what I said last time? Art is messy? Yeah. It's gotten messier. We're about twenty uses of the f-word away from being a Tarantino movie.

So after all this, what's the moral of the story, Meredith Grey? Sometimes you get what you weren't expecting. The one you love will give you ghosts when you expected grief. A woman suffering from potentially fatal writer's block will pace her kitchen, stare at the pile of drafts littering her files, and spend a crazy amount of time worrying her four-paragraph contribution to a kick ass fiction writing blog will be the mega shark that emerges from the murky depths that she'll then have to jump over.

Or something like that. I don't know. What I do know is this:

• Please go check out the latest at Polite Fiction. Except the latest won't make a lot of sense if you haven't been following along. Wind back. Savor it. There are people there who love words and know how to use them in ways that should be illegal. And then, of course, there's me.
• The title of this particular post actually does make sense.
• Please don't tell me what happened on the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy. Thanks to this new-fangled thing called The Internet, I'll be watching online tonight while plotting ways to regain control over the DVR.