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#3: Fan Letter

Apr. 16th, 2007 | 11:05 pm
mood: cheerfulcheerful

Write a fan letter.

Dear Paula Dean,

Can I just say that all the critics need to shut up and cook with more butter? Because, seriously? It makes everything taste better. And, if no one sees you cook with it? The calories don’t count. At least, that’s the rule I apply to just eating butter straight up out of the tub – no one saw me, so it doesn’t count! But, really? I don’t understand how people cook without using at least a stick of butter. Your philosophy is the truth, I swear.

Oh, hi, by the way! I’m Izzie Stevens, and I’m a big fan. I have your shows on tivo, and I even watch the one with your sons because they are adorable and clearly they make their mom proud! But, really? I even have the Chef-ography special saved on the Tivo, which Meredith keeps trying to delete. And I have every issue of your magazine. Okay, I’m totally starting to sound like a stalker creep, but I’m not, I swear! I’m just such a fan.

I cook, a lot. But, I’m guessing you could figure that out from my bit about butter. Yeah. I love to cook. I’ve always found it to be like free, productive therapy. I bet I’m sounding like a weirdo, but I’m a big supporter of speaking my mind even if it lands my foot squarely in my mouth. But, I cook like everything. I love making cupcakes; that’s probably my favorite thing to make. But, I’ll try just about anything. I cooked dinner for my friend Meredith’s really awkward family dinner, and there was nothing left! And, you know, everyone left happy! My food melted the awkward tension, like butter! Too bad I didn’t save some for George when he came over. He’s my best friend; he came over after the awkward dinner. There was drinking, and then this awkward, secret, crazy thing happened. Yeah. You know, this isn’t the point I was aiming for…

Anyway! I’m such a fan. I’m optimistic I can save up enough vacation time at work to go on a cross-country trip to Savannah to eat at your restaurant. Saving up vacation time should be easy with all the hours I work! I’m a surgical intern. Yeah. Awesome, huh? I haven’t picked a specialty yet, but I’m staying away from cardio because I don’t want to see the damage a lifetime of good cooking can do to a heart. Besides, Cristina, this sort-of friend of mine, is like hardcore cardio, and I’m not crazy like that. And, I had a fiance who died of heart... Well, Denny would've liked my cooking, and I think he would've liked to go on a cross-country trip with me to eat at The Lady and Sons. But, for now, the closest I can get is just cooking one of your recipes and settling into a marathon of the Food network.

Lots of love from Seattle!!
Izzie Stevens

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Oh, we're gonna Easter the Bunny, alright. [RP for goingtoneedyou

Apr. 4th, 2007 | 12:20 am
mood: anxiousanxious

I'm standing in the parking lot of the hospital, because I don't want to be noticed. Of course, the random blonde girl who's been standing in the parking lot, just standing around, is starting to get looks, so maybe this wasn't my best idea. Originally, we were going to meet in the lobby, but too many people can see you there. I thought about standing outside, like outside in front of the hospital, but I did that one day so, no.

The parking lot is safe though. Well, okay, safer now that I'm in my car. I'm hiding in my car, next to Mer's, waiting for George. He'll figure it out, eventually, I hope. But, really? I have no idea whether or not he's actually going to show, because when/if he tells Callie that he's going anywhere with me? Yeah. That's not going to end well. But, it's not like she knows anything about the secret, so what am I stressing over? It'll be okay. Maybe. Hmm.

I'm glancing outside through the windows, even checking the rearview mirror for signs of George. I should listen to something, but you know, the CD in the player is Justin Timberlake, and I really never want to hear Sexyback again if that's at all possible. I'm nervous, and wow, that's weird, because who gets nervous over their best friend? Oh, wait! I know! The person who had drunken sex with their married best friend and actually would be totally cool with it happening again. Yeah. It's going to be a long day, huh?

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#2: Mistake

Mar. 28th, 2007 | 07:19 pm
mood: anxiousanxious

What is the biggest mistake you've made in a relationship?



Oh, this sounds like a discussion best started by my therapist, but you know, since they let me off probation, I’m not required to see her. And, that’s a good thing, because she’d give me some happy-go-lucky motivational speech that isn’t really good for anything. But, okay, mistakes happen. I make them all the time, and I’m okay with admitting that. But, I’ve made this mistake lately that doesn’t really feel like a mistake, and I’m supposed to keep it secret.

George is my best friend, my person. We’ve been joined at the hip since day one of our internship. Sure, we’ve hit some bumpy patches, but through it all, he’s been my best friend. At the end of the day, even if we’re mad and not speaking, he’s still my best friend. But, he’s made this mistake. I believe he made a terrible mistake by marrying Callie. I really, really believe that he’s a good man who made a terrible mistake, but I can’t tell him that anymore because it just makes it worse. Because, he knows it’s possible that he made a mistake, but he won’t admit it one way or the other yet.

But, he and Callie had this fight – this really big, really bad fight. He came over to the house – where he used to live and should still live, by the way, but now Alex lives in George’s room and that sucks – with bourbon. I’m pretty good at holding my liquor – and, for the record, I wasn’t puking my guts up the next morning – so, yeah, I drank with George. And, it was good and fun and happy – happy, even though we were drinking because he fought with Callie and asking me what he should do. And then, it happened. We had sex. We had amazing, wonderful sex that didn’t feel weird or awkward or bad or wrong, and in the morning, he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember until almost the end of the day, and he was so angry and confused and upset. And, I get that, I do, but hello, we had sex and it should mean something because I felt something good and I thought he did too. But, he said he won’t tell Callie, that this is a secret, our secret. And, okay, what George says goes, but…

I don’t want to keep this secret. I don’t. I want him to tell her and leave her and… I don’t know what else I want him to do. But, I’m confused, and I want to talk about it because talking helps but I can only talk to one person and he’s not talking about it. And, if I’ve done something that I have to keep secret and can’t talk to anyone about, then that must mean I’ve made a terrible mistake, but it didn’t feel like a mistake – it still doesn’t feel like a mistake, not really, but I think it might have been the biggest mistake I’ve made yet.

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#1: Time

Mar. 28th, 2007 | 07:17 pm
mood: accomplishedaccomplished

Time.


When you're little? Time is different. Time is all about getting up for school and what time the bus will be there. Time is about coming home, about dinner, about bedtime. Then you grow up, and times changes. It turns into this weird thing that you can't catch or hold onto or ever seem to get enough of. It's about work, about relationships, about sleep or lack thereof.

It seems like time is always slipping away lately. It seems like the faster and harder we run, the more time we lose. But, I've tried to make the most out of the time I do have. I try to cram as much as I can into my time, and I try to balance my life as best as I can. Does it always work? No, not really, but I try anyway because that's all we can do.

Sometimes time can stop or move painfully slow. Like with Denny and the wire I cut. Time was moving to the beat of his heart, that I was beating for him. And, then time moved really quickly when his hands were warm and we were going to get married. Then time stopped completely when his heart stopped, when he died, when I was being held in dead arms. And I had no sense of time when I was lying on the floor of the bathroom, being visited by everyone, one after the other. Time
stayed at a slower pace when I wasn't in the program, when all I did was bake muffins, and time moved to the beat of the kitchen timer. Then when I went back, time resumed its normal course.

But, time is weird. We all want more of it. I want more time with Denny; I would do anything to get him back, even if it was for a moment, but I do believe he's still with me, watching over me. I would love to have more free time, more social time, more alone time. I'd love more time in surgery, now that I'm free of my probation status. And, I believe that there's a way to capture time, to make it all your own. Like, being with your best friend. George can make time not matter, because he's George, my best friend, my person, and when he's around, time isn't an issue. So, that's what I believe. Sometimes you have to take it back to how it was when you were little. Time can't always matter so much. You just have to believe in more important things… you can't believe in time because it's always moving and changing. But, I believe in a lot of things, and that's how I get through the day, especially the days that seem to slip away.

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RP for goingtoneedyou

Mar. 27th, 2007 | 11:24 pm
mood: artisticartistic

She was determined to make it go away, somehow. It felt right and wonderful and good and… she had to make it go away, because it was a secret, their secret. She had doused her room with Febreze, determined to get the smell of bourbon and George out. She turned all the lights on, not wanting to mistake shadows on the wall for anything in her memory from the night before. She crumpled up the sheets into a pile on the bed, desperate to remove any trace of what had happened. But she sat there with tears threatening to fall because despite her efforts, the secret was far from gone. She fell back against the bare mattress, so drained and broken, that she didn’t even remember falling asleep. . .


I looked around… and something felt weird, because I know I’m asleep, but this isn’t my dream. I know it’s not my dream because my dreams don’t involve the linen closet or bourbon. In fact, this feels like the last twenty-four hours in some kind of weird box, but who am I to judge since clearly this isn’t my dream? Whatever. I have no problems drinking in the linen closet of the clinic that I paid for, so long as no one else is drinking in my very expensive linen closet.

Oh, but wait, I’m not alone because, hey, remember, this isn’t my dream! But who else would possibly dream about bourbon and the linen closet? Or, at the very least, make the linen closet smell like bourbon? Oh. Hell. No. Don’t I get a break, even in my dreams? Hello, brain! It’s a secret, remember? So, I ran out of the damn closet as fast as I could because, seriously, I don’t want to be back in that moment again, especially when I’m asleep.

But he’s here, in the clinic, somewhere. I know it. Because, this is his dream, and he’s going to find me because I’m trapped here for a reason or something. I bet when I wake up, this is going to be one of those dreams that inspires me to go to the nearest bookstore and invest in some crazy book on dream interpretation. But, whatever. It’s time to face this, because I doubt I get to face this in the real world anytime soon. “George? I know you’re here. Come out, come out, where ever you are!” But that didn’t work. He’s got to be brooding somewhere because he’s George and that’s what he does. “Don’t make me chase you through this whole clinic that I paid for!”

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experimental.... for the win!

Mar. 14th, 2007 | 11:54 pm

She believes. She doesn't know how or why, but she believes. Sometimes she forgets what she believes in, but that's okay, because she remembers when it counts. But, she says too much. She gets to ranting and rambling, up her on soapbox of believing... and she hurts him. She pushes him away. Like she does. Always.

She's sitting in his room - well, what used to be his room, but she won't admit that he's actually gone, moved out, married, whatever. She's sitting there, on his bed, where he should be. She's pondered looking through the closet or the dresser to see if maybe he left anything behind, any reason to come back.

She shakes her head and reminds herself that this is silly. He's George, her best friend - well, sometimes. And, he's married, to Callie O'Malley. He's trapped in the worst mistake of his life, but she sighs because she knows she can't help him. She thinks he knows she's right, but he won't admit it because he's George and she's Izzie and that's how they operate.

She sighs. She wonders if he'll come back, if maybe he'll divorce Callie and move back in to make things normal again. She misses when things were normal, when she could still walk down the hall, climb in George's bed, and everything was okay. She misses it. She wants it back. And she believes... she believes he'll come back, but she believes that believing he'll come back is what will make him come back.

She hopes...

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