Hump Day Confessions #6: "Grey’s Anatomy" Junkie

It’s my one series that I have running, and missed last week.  Aaaack! I do apologize. I know you enjoy coming here to see what I might confess or profess a love for each week. 
How was everybody’s Tuesday?  I spent all day unplugged!  I mean, I didn’t even have my email up and ready for quick glances throughout the day.  I was proud.

On with it!

Today’s confession:  I am addicted to Grey’s Anatomy.

This may not seem like much of a confession for this series.

Let’s put it this way.  I started watching “Grey’s Anatomy” less than a year ago.  I started from the beginning, people.  There were 9 seasons then!  I was in school studying to become a paramedic!  It’s practically like studying to become a doctor. Very intensive knowledge to be soaked up like a sponge, and there I was, watching episodes when I should have been doing drug calculations.  When I should have been studying the blood flow through the heart.  When I could have been sleeping. 

It is my pleasure.  No guilt attached.  Well, maybe just a little.  I treated it like a marathon.  I did take a break at some point, but now I’m back to the marathon: carb-loading and running episodes with minimal breaks.  Oh but I should really do without the carbs. 

I thought “Eh, there’s 9 seasons, I will have plenty of episodes to watch.”  Apparently, instant gratification was the spark that fueled the fire, as I burned through the seasons.  It’s like having one of those amusement park passes that allows you to cut ahead on the rides.  No wait time. 

Yesterday, I probably watched a dozen episodes back to back.  I was in the “Grey’s Anatomy” zone.  I’m such a junkie.  

For the record, no children were neglected in the process. 

Of course I changed L’s diapers, played with him, and watched the girls put on their 1000th dance recital in our living room.  They were fed, though I did give them the liberty of dressing themselves.  That’s why A walked around with zebra print leggings, pink polka dot leg warmers over those, a t-shirt with tutu attached, and a “pretty stirt” as she pronounces it.  Fancy Nancy.

Anyway, there I was drowning in a lifetime’s worth of clean unfolded laundry.  I had a clothes folding party of one going on in the living room.  “Grey’s Anatomy” was front and center.  I may have told the kids to find something to do because “Mommy’s watching the doctor show.”  A may have responded with her expansive knowledge of medical terminology at the age of nearly 3, and said “Is there gonna be blood?”  She probably would have stayed and watched if S hadn’t turned on a dancing song and put on a skirt.  (because dancing without a skirt is blasphemous in this household)  Thankfully, after the rough night L had, he slept at the far end of the couch for a good 2 hours. 

“Grey’s Anatomy” is a soap opera, without the weird acting. (Ever notice how weird the acting is?  Or is it just me?)  It’s filled with drama, unrealistic events and sometimes predictable outcomes.  Sometimes there’s a lull and it becomes the fluff that is reality or no-brainer TV, which I despise.  Sometimes I and say “I didn’t see that one coming.”  I enjoy every bit of this show.  Nine seasons in, I consider myself invested. 

I had a very brief pipe dream of going beyond EMS and studying to become a surgeon.  Kids, don’t believe everything you see on TV.  Your hair or makeup will not be as perfect, and you probably won’t get away with half the crap they pull. 

It’s quite funny because it wasn’t until a few seasons ago that I thought “Wow, there is a whole lot of unrealistic activity going on.”  Shonda Rhimes sure knows how to make it interesting, from near-death experiences to fraternization.  There is a whole lot of sex going on up in the on-call rooms.  I mean, really?  Do they ever sleep?  Is their libido not affected AT ALL by the job and long hours spent at the hospital?  Maybe there are pheromones being pumped through the ventilation that turns them into sex-crazed surgeons.  But that wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever.

If the cast could watch me back, they’d see a variation of facial expressions.  In the privacy of my own living room, they’d witness some of the ugliest sad faces, the giddiest smiles, or my hand over my mouth in horror.  With this raw of emotion, I don’t even think I would want to see myself.  Ha-ha!

So what about you? Are you obsessed with any tv shows?


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