Bite Me, Grey's Anatomy. Seriously.

I was infuriated by the end of the Grey's Anatomy season finale, but not because of who died or what didn't happen - it's what did happen that has me frustrated. Okay, beyond frustrated, and here's why - the damn thing ended with everyone being in love. The chief is in love with his wife. Derek is in love with Meredith (again). Lexie is in love with George. Cristina is in love with surgery. Even Callie and Erika have found love - with each other. What-the-fuck-ever, I say. This isn't life. Life isn't everybody falling in love. Life is what will happen next season: the chief won't change his ways and his wife will be pissed off again. Meredith is in therapy, but she won't be able to un-crazy herself enough for Derek. George will disappoint Lexie. Erika will continue to fuck Cristina over and Callie won't be able to handle her new lesbian-ness. That's life. It's the messiness and the disappointment and the failures. Nobody lights ten million candles to symbolize their new house and life with their on-again-off-again. It just doesn't freaking work that way.