Why Shonda Rhimes is Dead to Me

BIG. FAT. SPOILER ALERT. If you’re not up to date on Grey’s, walk away now. From the show. Or this post. Or both. One of those.


I’m not ashamed. I’m in mourning. For eleven years, I’ve been in a tumultuous relationship with Grey’s Anatomy. We had our ups and downs. We jumped through quite a few crazy hoops. We let a lot of really atrocious shit slide. We loved and lost, but this loss is too much. This broke me. This destroyed us.

Shonda, you’re an asshole. A spiteful, malicious bitch. Grey’s Anatomy MADE you. The fans MADE you. You betrayed our trust. You don’t give enough fucks about Grey’s, even though it’s the one that put you on the map. This was something you needed to do better. It needed to BE better. Meredith deserved better. WE deserve better. And quite frankly, Prince Fucking Charming shouldn’t have died. Sure, it’s a drama. But you turned a drama into a tragedy. And not even a good one. Killing off eleven years of emotional investment with a stupid, fleeting, single-episode plot is just wrong.

You didn’t even make Derek’s death a remotely decent or reliable plot twist. First, you skirted around a dozen different ways McDreamy could have left the show.  He could have stayed in DC. He could have cheated (thank GOD you didn’t do that) on Mer. He could have been killed in another plane crash (insert eye roll here). He could have died in the car crash at the beginning of the episode. And so on and so forth. Then, you let him die alone. ‘Da fuck?

For someone who’s praised as such a gifted TV writer, your inexcusable story arc sure did leave us with a lot of questions. Why didn’t Bailey tell Meredith that she had been on a call with Derek earlier that day? Or that the call had dropped? If he was in a dead zone, why did his phone buzz? Why would he stop in the middle of the street to answer it? Where was his phone and ID in that mess to identify him? Did he need to be a John Doe? If they airlift people from the middle of nowhere to Grey Sloan ALL THE DAMN TIME, why didn’t they do it this time? Don’t write him off dying alone in some podunk fucking hospital.  Don’t make Meredith make the decision to pull the plug alone. Seriously?

I’m fucking done. And I’m not the only one. We’re pissed, Shonda. And not oh-my-god-I-can’t-wait-to-watch-the-next-episode pissed. 102,000 fans and counting are signing petitions and shit to bring back the character you eliminated in the most horrific way.

You think we want to watch any more of your shitty cry fests after you destroyed any chance of Bright and Shiny Meredith ever, at all? After you killed off a character in the most senseless, asinine way? No. That shit will not taint my television. But just in case you were wondering, here are a few ways you could have left the fans with a little less bitter, we-quit-you rage.

You Could Have Allowed His Death to Have Meaning

Okay. You want to kill him. You’re a vindictive writer like that. If he had to die that day, let him die saving one of those teenagers. Or the little girl. Or her mom. Don’t let his death be completely void of any rhyme or reason. If it were such a beautiful day to save lives (every life but his own), he should have died to prevent someone else from dying. You could have created a believable heroic story on one of the ferry boats he loved so much. Or he could have died pushing someone away from the explosion that happened in the beginning of the episode. Derek did not have to die for naught.

You Could Have Let Him Stay in DC

Everyone was okay when he was in DC. Sure, he was Skyping his family more than seeing them. But if you had let him live, Mer could take the kids on weekend trips and he could come home a little more often. You wouldn’t need to show any of that. You would just need to mention it every now and then. The point is that they’re still together and in love. He’s still Prince Charming and Mer’s still happy and rocking as a surgeon.

You Could Have Faded Him to Black

You know that place you were headed with the happy non-brilliant-surgeon, soccer-coach-dad thing? That. Do that. Dr. Shepherd would have flitted off into the sunset and lived happily ever after as a devoted husband and dad. He could be mentioned in passing as doing something perfectly lovely as a stay at home dad while all hell breaks loose in the hospital and his baby sister would save the day. He would never need to appear on the show, but we’d be happy…knowing he was dedicated to Mer and their family.

But you didn’t do any of these things, Shonda. Instead, you followed your tired surprise-but-not-really plot twist formula. Grey’s Anatomy is just like Game of Thrones. Except the characters are much more likable, and when you kill them off, abruptly, without thought or even a solid story arc, you’re an asshole.

I’d say that I’m waiting for Meredith to be executed the way of Eddard Stark, but I won’t be around to see it. Because I’m so over it (but not really, because I’m in fucking pain). And Shonda Rhimes is dead to me.


Am I alone in this nonsense? Are you a Grey’s fan gone rogue? What shows are you emotionally invested in? What are TV deal breakers for you?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Perils of Working in the Original Skyscraper Jungle

I work in the city. THE city. As in Chicago. Home of the original skyscraper. Did you know that? After the Chicago Fire, they commissioned an architect to do whatever he wanted…and he wanted to change the world, apparently. Thus skyscrapers were born.

So I work downtown, inside The Loop, Chicago. Each day I walk a mile from the train, rain or shine, sweltering or bitterly freezing. And then I work. And then I walk another mile from work to the train. I used to occasionally take a cab (VERY occasionally), but mostly I’d brave the elements because a one-way $8-10 cab ride just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve recently discovered that I’m not as afraid of the bus, but for an extra $2.25 per trip, it’s only worth it when it’s REALLY fucking cold out. Like negative temperatures cold. Like WAY negative temperatures cold. Because that $2.25 would quickly become $22.50 PER WEEK. And that’s a lot on my already-expensive commute.

So I brave the dangers of walking in the city. When it’s freezing out, and especially when the freezing starts to warm up just a smidge, signs start popping up all over The Loop. On my walk to and from the train, I pass no less than 8 caution signs each way. Caution signs that warn passersby of potential falling ice. FROM THE FUCKING SKYSCRAPERS.

Caution Falling Ice

  1. How the fuck am I supposed to see the falling ice ball from the sky by looking at a sign 2 feet off the ground?

  2. How the fuck would I even protect myself if a giant, painful ball of ice were to come tumbling down on my head?

  3. What is the fucking purpose of the signs? Do they think they’re preventing legal repercussions of a chunk of ice decapitating some unlucky soul?

Because if a giant fuckball of ice falls on my head and doesn’t actually kill me, I’m going to sue something. Or someone. Okay, probably not. But I would most certainly be pissed. And in a lot of pain.

Then…THEN…I get safely inside the confines of my building? Only to discover that because of the wet, melting ice on my feet, I could fall to my death inside the fucking skyscraper. Because those floors are fucking SLICK. I should know…I slip on them on a regular basis.

Caution Wet FloorThese days, I’m not opposed to a nice, cozy suburban job…with a 5-15 minute drive. We’ll see.

Blog Friends, what dangers await you on your morning commute? Or do you have a dangerous job? Or do you avoid danger like the plague?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I Made Pictures in My Mind to Remember You

Caution: This post may make you cry. But it may not. It made me cry writing it. So read at your own risk that you may or may not cry. And I promise I tried to put some humor in it. Whether or not you laugh is up to you. So really, you could laugh AND cry. Or neither. The choice is yours, really.

You may have been wondering why I disappeared for a week of guest posters in March. Or why I’ve not been quite as socially active. Or why my posts are lacking that special oomph that makes me me. This is why.

In August of last year, we received a devastating blow. Brian’s mom, who was the nicest and most wonderful lady in the whole world, without a mean bone in her body, was diagnosed with Stage 4 Metastatic Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer. In layman’s terms, she had a non-smoker’s lung cancer that had already spread.

Until February, she fought and fought and fought. And we both (she and I) believed that she would fight it, kill it, and stomp on its grave. That stupid cancer. We spent a lot of time talking about how she was going to make this cancer wish it had never paid her a visit. She was strong. But February came, and reality set it.

The cancer was taking over.

Cancer. Was. Taking. Over.

On March 23, the world lost a fine lady, and Heaven gained an angel. It sucks. Cancer sucks.

But I am lucky. Lucky that I knew her. Lucky that I spent as much time as I did with her. For a while we were spending most of our weekends with Mom. And while there may not be a lot of photographic evidence, I have pictures in my mind. Lots of them. Sweet ones and funny ones. And those will live on forever. I am lucky.

But I’m still sad. And while she wasn’t my own mom, she was family. And I loved her.

One of the best pictures, though, is not a picture in my mind. It’s a real picture. After surgery, she couldn’t walk very well, but I promised to take her to the grocery store. I promised to teach her how to ride the driving cart at the store. Surprised that I knew how to maneuver it so well (Thanks to my Mom, my Gram, and my own silly injuries), she became less reluctant to try it out (Because she didn’t see me almost get hit by a car on my way into the parking lot) and she was ready for it. If I could do it, so could she.

So we had a grocery adventure, Brian’s mom and I. Just the two of us.

Driving like a rock star. She had a great teacher, you know...

And then we had more driving cart adventures. Because we could. But those are all brain pictures. And not real pictures. Lucky for me, I’ve got a pretty colorful brain.

Blog Friends, tell us about someone you love. Tell us a memory. Tell us about a picture in your brain.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Cancer Sucks

Relay for Life Hope

Relay for Life

When I was 8, my grandfather was diagnosed with a skin cancer called malignant melanoma, By the time they found it, it had already metastasized in other places and the outlook was not so promising. I remember him being sick, and sometimes he was all there…other times he was not.

I don’t remember a whole lot of the bad stuff, but I remember shortly before he passed away, he gave Mom some money to “go buy the kids something.” So we went to Walgreens and another store. I got a pair of shoes that I loved and a mini Christmas tree (20 years later, I still put it up religiously). My brother also got a mini Christmas tree and something else.

I also remember the day that he died. We were at the hospital. I hugged him. He told me he loved me. He used to call me Christinie Christinie Jelliebeanie (which is why I occasionally use the pseudonym Jelliebean and why Penny calls me Bean). We went home to the house, with the intention to return. My uncle called and told us that he would be gone before we came back. But we had said our goodbyes, so it was okay. I remember it being sad, but I don’t think I cried. I didn’t cry a whole lot then. I guess that in my adulthood, I’ve made up for my lack of childhood tears.

At my grandfather’s wake, tons of people showed up. I was a kid, and there was a play area. So I wanted to play. I didn’t quite realize what was going on. When my school pals showed up with their moms, I would ask if they wanted to play with me, but the moms would all look at me funny, and say that they were just there for a short time and needed to pay their respects. I just wanted to eat cookies and play with toys.

Of course, the day of the funeral came, and I remember my older cousin Jennifer crying a lot. I didn’t understand. I realized then that I should be crying too. So I tried to cry. But I couldn’t. So I just sat there with her. Wishing I could cry.

Yup; cancer sucks.

Last night, my Chicago Bears (and those pesky Dallas Cowboys) were the first to sport their pink shoes and accessories to show their support for Breast Cancer Awareness…Yes, that’s right, you’re about to get splashed hard with the pink bug. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. A disease that my family knows all too well. My sister (who, by blood, is actually my dad’s cousin’s daughter) recently had most of her lady parts removed because she has the breast cancer gene. Her mother, her grandmother, her aunts, her cousins–all my family, too–have been affected.

Now, it’s on both sides of my family. Fucking breast cancer.

Today, I’m asking the blogosphere to send out good Juju to my family. Whatever works for you is happily accepted here. Prayers, thoughts, well-wishes, good juju. From the bottom of my heart, thanks.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!