Sof's Guide to Spotting and Ruining the Attention Whore

They're everywhere: Crying in bars... making a scene in the workplace... getting knocked up by male friends when clearly out of the closet as a lesbian. They'll announce their pregnancy when you announce your engagement; they'll be the surprise at your surprise party; Hell, they'll even die before you (and with a better funeral, of course).

This is why I'm going to help you spot and destroy the attention whore before her wildly obscene beer tears drown your boyfriend into a public affair. To help me in this task, I've employed the women of Seattle Grace Hospital. I give you exhibit A:

Name: Dr. Calliope "Callie" Torres

Occupation: Attending Orthopedic Surgeon

Relationship Status: It's complicated

Sexual Orientation: Gay of the lesbian variety (or so she says)

Why Callie is an Attention Whore: Recently, Callie announced her pregnancy to her "ex" girlfriend, Arizona. While this is typically news people would be "over the moon about" (ugh, I hate that expression), knowing that the love child is the product of an extra-relational tryst with her sex buddy of yesteryear must have had Arizona barbecuing from the inside out. It's quite clear that Steamy has put a dark cloud over Callie and Arizona's relationship; primarily because, well, Callie wants to bone his brains out 24/7. If we can all take a look back to the days of Dr. Erica Hahn (yes I know that's painful), we'd all recall that the first tounge slip to the other side was result of Steamy's fantastical urging. Pretending to be a lesbian to get a hot guys attention? Classic attention whore. On to exhibit B...

Name: Dr. Teddy Altman

Occupation: Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery

Relationship Status: Married... technically

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Why Teddy is an Attention Whore: It's clear to everyone in America that Dr. Teddy (yeah... that name would make me comfortable if saw it assigned to my heart surgery) has daily desert fantasies of her and Dr. Hunt saving lives and rolling around in sand together. Sure must have sucked for her when Hunt got MARRIED. Boo hoo... What ever is an attention whore to do?! I know... also GET MARRIED. But, in true AW form, our friend Teddy didn't only get hitched... she married a patient she met for 5 minutes. Moving on...

Name: Dr. Christina Yang

Occupation: Medical Resident

Relationship Status: Married

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Why Christina is an Attention Whore: This whole "I'm ok... I'm NOT ok... I'm ok... I'm NOT ok" game is getting old. Funny how Christina can miraculously kick surgery ass in the OR again RIGHT in time for the race for Chief Resident. All too convenient for me. She wanted to come back in the spotlight tenfold... riding up in an ambulance, saving the life of a mass murderer. Yeah... THAT's not dramatic. She's an attention whore with a motive (beware of those, for sure).

Now that we've learned to recognize the attention whores, we need to learn how to tame them. What better way than to learn from the example set by television's most drastically reformed Attention Whore, Meredith Grey:

In just a few short seasons, Meredith went from sleeping with her BFF and fake-dying to getting married on a post-it. Now that's growth. Instead of being the subject of everyone's concern, she's the one offering up advice and telling young AWs to snap out of it. What's the lesson here? Marry a sexy, powerful doctor, dodge a bullet, and concentrate on what really matters in life. Here here, Meredith!

Savory Jackson Avery

Dear Readers,

I'm not going to lie to you... I'm drunk, pretty drunk. At least not drunk to the point where I'm mispelling words but I cannot attest for the latter half of my post. I'm bolting (yet again) but I've met a lovely man who shares my love for Project Runway and Hello Kitty so at least my ride to Philadelphia won't be so bad. However, when I told him I'm behind on my PR because I've been too busy catching up on my Greys he slapped my face and called me Barbara.

Luckily I had the intuition to immediately soften the blow with a picture of Jackson Avery (thank you, Bolt Bus, for your streaming internet). I took a page from my friend Ali's book and told him that Avery's eyes pierce my soul. For a hot second he thought I was trying to get him to join a cult but then he got a glimpse of Avery's bam bams and completely understood my hot flash.

Which brings me to my point: I'd like to open up a genetic factory where I can inter-breed humans to make specimens equal to or surpassing Avery ( $10 bucks says he was grown on a people farm). What does this mean in the long run? I dunno... Looking for a blue-eyed black man? I'm your girl. A Blasian? Again, give me a ring. An Italian/Irish/German bride? Sorry... We can't mimmic perfection here (but I'm still your girl ;) ).

So now I'm realizing the unfortunate affects of my own genetics. I fear that my GERD is offending my new friend. I keep trying to flirt my way back in the game, but just like Dr. Hot-for-Hunt won't stand for it, I don't think my new friend will either (granted my new friend is gay enough to share with me the street music to his Buddy Holly audition--but HEY). In the mean time, I'll keep trying to blow my Pinot Grigiburbs into the vent. Until then, tah tah.

Hit the Road, Kat... And Dontcha' Come Back

Breathe in... breathe out... now say it with me... "Ahhhhh..."

Holy Denny Duquette it's true! Katherine Heigl has flipped her last bird to the cast and crew of Grey's Anatomy, Entertainment Weekly confirms. What exactly does Izzy's departure mean for us loyal viewers? Well, I would venture to guess it would mean a lot less deer, a lot more shirtless Karev scenes, and bountiful rejoicing on set.

I can picture it now: Shondra Rhimes passing around the peace pipe, the writers going shot-for-shot with each other, McSteamy streaking through the set (yum...more of that please). In fact, I have it on good authority that the moment news of Katherine's peace-out leaked, the entire Grey's set turned into a scene from Godspell with Bailey taking the lead on "Oh bless the Lord my Soul."

It's no secret that Katherine Heigl was about as pleasant as a mammogram, stinking up the set with her cigarette smoke and bad attitude. She made it quite clear she was too good for that silly little medical dramedy that catapulted her lifeless career from the day's of "My Father the Hero" and the made-for-TV Disney hit "Wish Upon a Star" (thought I must admit, both are personal faves of mine). So what's next for this superstar? Perhaps some more earth-shattering, big screen hits in the likeness of "The Ugly Truth."

Fictional life at Seattle Grace doesn't seem to miss Izzy much, either. In fact, the show has been seriously stepping up its game recently. This distracting sexual chemistry between Dr. Hunt and Dr. I Love Hunt is doing more than enough to fill the Izzy/Karev void. Though, I must admit, I will look back fondly on Izzy's earlier Denny-filled days. In fact, let's take this moment to remember her with warm admiration in the best scene of Grey's to date (followed shortly thereafter with the pinnacle of Katherine's acting career):

Warning: Tigers Syndrome Sweeping Hospitals in the Seattle Area

It appears that everyone at Seattle Grace has come down with a case of the Tigers. For all of you un-medical, lay people types like myself, please review the following medical advisory:

Tigers (Ty-gers') Syndrome: (from the Greek: ἀράχνη, Panthera tigris, "douchous maximus") mental disorder which fixates all of one's thoughts on the vagina. Symptoms include talking incessantly about the vagina, spreading ridiculous un-truths about the vagina, developing elaborate metaphors around the vagina, or just the innate desire to whore oneself out. A permanent cure has yet to be determined, but temporary remedies include a strong dose of peen or walking in on an old lady in the buff. If you believe that you may be suffering from Tigers Syndrome, please consult your health care provider. Or better yet, rush to your nearest blockbuster and rent a copy of that Colin Farrell movie with the full frontal nudity.

Now that you've been briefed on the dangers of Tigers Syndrome, please spread the word. Awareness is the first step to finding a cure. While some of you might be thinking, "where does a silly little blogger get the medical authority to pioneer and diagnose such a serious a medical condition?" it's important that you know I've watched an exorbitant amount of medical dramas in my lifetime. So much, in fact, that I have earned a BS in Television Medicine (and no, that doesn't stand for Bachelor of Science).

Moving on... Yes, it is my esteemed medical opinion that a Tigers outbreak has been sweeping the halls of Seattle Grace hospital. All of this "Your heart lives in your vagina" nonsense is proof of that fact. Correction, your heart does not live in your vagina; it is located sub-sternal, center thoracic, superior to the stomach with the apex on the left. Suck on that, 10th grade biology.

One would assume that world-class surgeons would know full well that the heart does not live in the vagina. Alas, one of the side effects of the syndrome is making outrageously fantastical claims about the vagina. And "prepping the surgical area?" Clearly the vajayjay is all these people can think about these days. Meredith, Christina, Lexie, Alex, Bailey, and McSteamy seem to be the disorder's primary carriers. To be clear, Callie and Arizona may not be affected. There is a difference between those fixated on the hoo-hah due to Tigers syndrome and those fixated on the hoo-hah because they are lesbians by nature.

This message has been brought to you by the American Doctors Association, Elin Woods, and the naughty minds at ABC.

Casting, Costuming, and Other Grievances

So I caught up on my Grey's from last week in preparation for tonight's episode. I know what you're thinking... YES, I still watch Grey's. Geeze, enough with the interrogation, people. Let's just hope that tonight's epi won't make me want to reach through the screen, grab a scalpel and slice my eyes out... again.

In the episode entitled "The Time Warp," it was lecture day at Seattle Grace. Yup... Thrilling. In their speeches, Callie, Bailey, and the Chief took a gander back in time to when the Chief wasn't bald, Bailey wore a weave, and Callie still loved peen. Ohh the good ole days.

In the Chief's flashback, the audience got a first row seat to the adulterous nookie between him and Meredith's momma. And who did ABC cast to play the wretched Ellis Grey? The sexy Sarah Paulson. Sure, it's believable that the woman who could charm the heart of Cupid himself would one day look like the grim reaper. What? You, didn't watch Cupid during its 7 episode stint on ABC? Maybe you are more familiar with her performance as Mel Gibson's sexretary in What Women Want. "It's OK, I just use the company phones to call my boyfriend in Israel."

Bailey's flashback was a little less palatable. We learned that in her first year as an intern, Bailey was fourteen years old. Not really, but you expect me to believe that an educated 26-year-old woman would sport braids, glasses, a pink turtleneck sweatshirt and a jest? Comeon people, the year was 2003... NOT 1989. What is it with TV and Movies and throwing glasses on actors and making them fashionably retarded to make them look "younger?" And then they cast Fran Stalinofskivitchdavitovichsy from Dodgeball as Bailey's resident? You got it... the deadliest woman on earth.

Ah, and then there's Callie. Nothing really jaw-dropping here--just a subtle reminder that she used to speak dong... and quite fluently I might add.

Moral of the story, it took me about 10 minutes and 18 Fresh Step kitty litter commercials (seriously, ABC?) to realize that this episode would have absolutely no impact on the next. Oh well. At least we all learned a lesson here: if you're having a medical emergency, have the ambulance avoid Seattle Grace... it could be lecture day and all the docs might be too busy reminiscing than saving lives.

Buzzkill Status: Flatline.

Paging Dr. Shephard... We have a patient in need of emergency treatment for a mean case of blue balls.

Yes, let's say it all together: "Womp. womp. womp." Watching Thursday's Greys Anatomy was like ordering your favorite takeout only to realize the main course was missing. I wanted meat and potatoes and all I got was a crappy side salad. Who cares that an annoying cardio patient can't choose between a pig and a cow valve? Who cares that Bailey continues to not get any? Who cares if Alex thinks about trading surgery for some much needed nookie with a pre-pubescent looking doctor? Not I.

Though I was thoroughly disappointed with the entirety of the episode, I was most let down with the lackluster return of everyone's favorite gyno, Addison Montgomery. For a hot second there I was so sure I didn't have to wait until Private Practice to see McSteamy rolling around shirtless. This of course reminds me of how much I hate Private Practice. STOP HOLDING OUR OBGYN HOSTAGE, YOU SAD EXCUSE FOR A PRIMETIME DRAMA!

I'm hoping that last week's return from hiatus is the necessary placeholder before something truly heart pounding... much like New Moon in the Twilight saga (I KNEW I'd be able to finally throw a Twilight shout-out in the blog somehow!). In true Grey's fashion, the only action happened in the last :30 seconds of the program... Lexi and Alex get it on... Christina pimps out her boyfriend to keep "cardio god" around... Meredith outs the chief. Hm, the fact that everything always happens at the same time of night on Greys really makes me wonder about Seattle. Maybe the rain, fog and proximity to Forks has created some kind of witching hour. Boredom... boredom... boredom... and BAM!

Blame it on the Al-a-a-al-co-hol

Blame it on the vodka blame it on the henne... blame it on the club soda? Who are you trying to fool, chief? Last time I pulled that act I was in high school, swiggin' stolen 20-year-old vodka from my parent's liquor cabinet straight out of a Poland Spring bottle while going to third base under the boardwalk. In answer to your question it was Grey Goose and yes... that makes it classier.

Grey's Anatomy is on a brief hiatus which I personally find ironic seeing as the current central storyline involves the chief taking a hiatus from sobriety. The bad news? The chief is off the wagon. The good news? At least there's a reason behind him being mind-blowingly manstrual lately. The best news? He's got booves. Sure, I'll explain...

Booves, or booze-induced dance moves, usually occur at the point right before you throw up. In most cases, true booves come out right before the drink that ends the night. You may be thinking to yourself, "I have great booves." Wrong. No one has great booves. In fact, you would never know whether or not you do as you are likely to be black out when they occur. Traditional booves involve lots of swaying, nodding, and slow-motion twirling. If you're fancy (like the chief) your arms rise eye level because, let's face it, that's as far as your body will allow them to go when holding a beverage. Classic booves may also involve a tumble and/or wipe out. Wake up with a mystery bruise? Must have been a boove.

As I consider myself an authority on booves (a. because I made up the term and b. because I'm a dancing drunken fiend) I can say with certainty that dance booves also have the chance of turning into bedroom booves. Yes, again booze-induced moves. Waking up next to a tall dark and handsome may be the only indication that you had some great booves.

**Editors note: At the time this post was posted, I was unaware that the term "booves" was already in existence. Yes, according to Urban Dictionary, "booves" is the plural form of "boof," an unshaven pubic area. Weirdly enough I find this awesome. It stays.

"I Thought You Would Call Me"

If there's one thing I've learned about guys in my short 23 years of trying to understand them, it's that they're not quite the sharpest angles in the rhombus (sorry fellas, I have a point I'm getting to. Swear). What I'm trying to say is that our man friends need everything completely spelled out for them. While they argue we speak in code, we argue that they can't decipher it and are in turn graced with the mental capacity of a meatball. So for the sake of editorial cohesion, I offer the male readers a short yet valuable lesson: "Babe, does my ass look bad in this dress?" does not mean "I want you to thoroughly analayze and critique the way my short hem line gives you a hearty taste of the celulite." No, it means "tell me I have a hot ass or you won't be able to tap it for a LONG time."

In true female code last week on Grey's, Dr. McNew Cardio Goddess says to Dr. McFirecrotch, "I thought you would call me." And yes, in true male confusion, Hunt merely nods, raises an eyebrow, and smiles nervously. We veiwers are then led to believe that he is uncomfortable with the recent outpouring of romantic feelings. However, I offer another opinion: he doesn't get it.

Sorry for doubting the ability for a man, a doctor at that, to recognize the smoke signals and send in rescue efforts, but in all seriousness the facial expression says it all. In fact, you know he's thinking to himself "but I did call, didn't I? Isn't that why she's here at Seattle Grace? I did dial and she did pick up right?" Silly Hunt, all the lady's trying to say is that she wants to get it on.

And in that respect, let me be the first to say SUKIT Dr. McNew Cardio Goddess. We finally have a good thing going here between Cristina and frotch. If things go sour for those two we may have another monumentally ugly cry on our hands and THAT is not something we'll be able to forgive you for.

And the Ugly Crier of the Year Award Goes To...

Throughout my years of avid film and television viewership (aka sitting on my ass, watching TV), I've found that every Hollywood harlet falls into one of two categories: the ugly criers or the pretty criers. The pretty criers, the lesser obvious of the two, consist of the actresses who despite tears, never seem to smudge a single swipe of eyeliner or reveal any hint of snot. Their tears cascade gracefully, at times appearing to fall in slow motion, one single tear after the next. This category is no doubt dominated by the most beautiful crier of all time: Miss Demi Moore. Her gracefully tearful performance in Ghost is by far the prime example of how a lady should shed a tear.

Now to the dogs...

The ugly criers; the snot ridden, makeup smeared, huffing, puffing, drenched faced, tomato red criers who stand by the theory that the uglier the cry, the more theatrical the piece. You know the kind... the criers whose overindulgent sobs make you cringe. So bad, in fact, that instead of evoking any sort of sympathy, your first reaction is to turn to your friend and say "Ew. She looks like shit." You're probably asking yourself where I'm going with this. Well, after last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy, we have a new queen to take the ugly crier throne... Miss Sandra Oh... yes, Oh... as in "Oh wow that is oneeeee ugly crier."

First of all, in last night's episode Cristina Yang whipped out a wallowy weep because she's a medical attention whore (Note: a key to being a pretty crier is to actually cry over something legitimate. Strike One). The real victim here? Poor bed-ridden Meredith; the only person in the room to absorb all of the ugly cry awkwardness (Note: another key to being a pretty crier is to not sob to a bed-ridden patient in a hospital. They cry to you. Strike Two). "I miss Burke! (gurgle, huff, glob, gasp) It's been too long since I've held a heart in my hand! (Guff, yelp, blarf, spibble)." So gross. Next time, Grey's, please keep the crying to the Izzy's and Dr. Bailey's of the show. No one wants to see that.

Advice of the Day: Don't Work at Seattle Grace

So I've been moving all week and I'm a little behind on my television, but when I received a text from a friend last weekend saying: "have you watched Grey's? Very interesting info in first 7 minutes," I had to drop the shoes and ravage the DVR. What did I learn? That Izzy and Carev make 30k a year? Please advise?

All of these Seattle Grace questions of finance have really gotten my brain into a tizzy. I write, I plan, I shop, I eat, and I watch TV... I don't do numbers. So you can understand my frustration as I spent the entirety of the episode Googling average medical resident salaries. Yet alas, I find myself victorious... again. Do you hear that? It's the sound of someone getting fired on the research team of the Grey's writing staff.

Below is a list of the US average of residency stipends per year:

- 1st Year (Intern): 46k (The Lexi's)
- 2nd Year: 48k (The Lexi's? Isn't she an intern in her 2nd year?)
- 3rd Year: 50k (The Merediths, the Christina's, the Izzy's, the Carevs, the Georges-RIP)
- 4th Year: 52k (The Merediths et al? How long HAS it been? hmm?)
- 5th Year: 54.1k
- 6th Year: 56.5k (The Bailey's and the Callie's? Yeah... I'm just confusing myself).

So yes... nothing entirely extravegant but no measley 30k. They reserve that special number for the Assistant Media Planners/really important people of the world... ha. Alright already--enough about math! How un-sexy of me.

In other news, can we discuss the Meredith/Lexi sista sista connection? Personally, I'm lovin it. Except don't hold your breath... this won't last for long. Both girls happy with each other and happy in love with their fine-ass men? Something's about to go down real fast.

Recession Worthy Programming

Finally... A show that speaks to the financial woes of our nation. Granted, the show I'm speaking of is one about Doctors, so take it with a grain of salt. Grey's new "merging with Mercy West" storyline has proved to be, at least for me, an inventive way of saying to America, "Yes, even we pretty people are in a recession." How refreshing. Though I'm appreciative of this realistic recognition of the life-sucking financial crisis our country is in, I still feel the need to harp on the episode's not so realistic components (as if I would do anything else).

Let's talk layoffs. Are you meaning to tell me that Izzy "I cut LVAD wires" Stevens wouldn't be first on the chopping block? Not only has she been seriously threatened with the ax in the past, but let's not forget her most memorable surgery as a first year resident... that's right... a fucking deer. What an asset. Ok ok, so she has cancer and there's probably some law against it; but if this happened in real life, everyone would suspect she was hookin' it with the chief.

And speaking of the financial situation over there at Seattle Grace, I have a question: If you are a world renowned surgeon, what the hell are you doing living a) in a trailer or b) at your girlfriend's mom's house? Grow a pair, dig deep into those pockets, and splurge on that waterfront villa that you can afford. Hell, buy three while you're at it. Same goes for you too, Izzy and Carev. Stop slummin off of everyone else's ticket and buy yourselves a place where you don't have to vacuum your own poo. That is the part of Grey's anatomy that I'll never understand.

The only doctors that got it right in my book is McSteamy. Did u see his shower last week? Probably not... you were waiting for a peen slip... don't lie.

Awkward Laughter

Ahhhhhh--sweet release the return hath be upon us. Grey's premiered its 6th (holy crap) season on Thursday with a 2-hour tribute to George's recently-deceased character which was jam packed full of laughs! No... I'm not lying.

What's funnier than Izzy having a laugh attack over George's death, cancer, her friend getting choked out by her lover, or even the poor guilt-ridden sobbing redhead, is this whole "married on a post-it nonsense." Now this is too easy.

So is it safe for me to assume that by the powers vested by post-it, Meredith and Derek are betrothed under God? Well, that very well might be the most unsettling thing I've heard on Grey's thus far (and that includes penis fish).

If this is true, I can say with confidence that I've been married a good 48 times via the vat of love notes I've accumulated from my hopelessly romantic boyfriend, and THAT, friends, includes a leather-bound journal (I have to believe that leather is more legitimate than sticky paper). In fact, my friend probably got married this morning when her boyfriend met her at the train bearing a lengthy hallmark card and love bagel. Nothing says "I take thee" like carbs.

Let's not forget, either, that this isn't the first we've heard about the magical powers of the post-it. As Carrie Bradshaw learned, the post-it has the same ability to break up relationships as it does to consummate them. In that same respect, I have a piece of scrap paper with a song written for me on it by a scorned ex-lover where he more or less kills me leaving me "in a pool of blood." Does that mean that I could be killed via post-it? Hmm something to think about...