When I last left you, gentle blog, I planned on returning to you within the day with my thoughts concerning that night's Grey's Anatomy. Before I left I promised not to sleep with any other blogs while I was away, which I didn't think was going to be any big thing, as I was only going out for bagel crisps, bottled water, and cigarettes.
Then fate - that crazy whore - intervened. Instead of just going to the store and purchasing food, I fled hearth and home, dismantled my life piece by piece (a surprisingly easy and quick procedure), grew a beard, learned yoga, shaved, learned even more yoga - went native, if you will - then emerged from the fever dream of my flight from reality several months down the road, intact except for my illusions and one of my kidneys. When I came back to myself, many things about my life and its relationships with the outside world had changed irrevocably. After all, many of those close to me had assumed I was either dead or had become a pirate. Both of which were, at one point or another during what I now think of as my spirit quest, were true, actually, but that’s a different blog. What matters for our purposes is that instead of being gone forty or fifty minutes, I was gone for the better part of a year.
And yes, Grey’s Anatomy blog, what you’ve heard from your friends is true. I was with other blogs while I was away from you. I was with many other blogs, in fact. Blogs about politics. Blogs about my feelings. Blogs who had been strippers for long enough, you know, and were now looking to get their Associate's Degree, so as to provide not just money but a solid example for their little blog children.
And I’ve changed. You’re right. But I never – not even when I was hipdeep in one of those other blogs – stopped thinking about you. I miss you, McNightmare.Blogspot.Com. I miss your smell. And I know, in the same way I know how to tell when my first mate’s become mutinous and when to call him out on that shit just before he challenges me to a knife fight so that I can “accidentally” open up his femoral in the heat and smoke and excitement of raiding an Icelandic cruise ship, that you miss me too. So what do you say, sugartits? Reunited and it feels so good? This time you can be Peaches. Awesome.
Grey’s Anatomy changed a lot in my absence, as I had feared it might. Meredith got together with Chris O’Donnell, which was a relief to me because last I’d heard from him, he had just been run down awesomely by a train in Fried Green Tomatoes. Attaway to bounce back, C-O’c. But then he got run the fuck over again, this time by Meredith’s infidelity with Patrick Dempsey, and then by the all-consuming fury of her craziness. Damn, C-O’c. Tough break. Walk it off.
Also Isaiah Burke earned my eternal affection by choking the shit out of Patrick Dempsey in an onset melee (huzzah!) and lost it again by calling T.R. Knight a faggot (boo). Then he wrote me a lovely poem in which he compared my eyes to the moon, my hair to silk, and my buttocks to – well, that’s between myself and Isaiah. Anyway, now I don’t know what to think!
Well, come to think of it, that’s not entirely true. There are some things I know for sure. I know ice cream is delicious. I know that you can eat ice cream with a spoon. And I know I also know that I own many spoons, and that the 24hr bodega next door sells ice cream. And I know one more thing. I know that Patrick Dempsey (a.k.a. Derek Shepherd, a.k.a. McDreamy) is my enemy.
And maybe that’s all I need to know.
