Whoa hey sorry I'm late I was just watching Barack Obama's infomercial. It inspired a lot of Googling on my part because I was dying to know if the writer or director or key grip or anyone involved in the production of that worked on or was a fan of Friday Night Lights. I just had to know. But I couldn't find the answer. Any of you know? There was just a certain leitmotif in the stories that made me feel so anxious and happy and sad that I felt like I was watching Friday Night Lights. But now I have to turn from an inspiring, tear-jerking, heart-wrenching, elevating, er... ad, to Private Practice. Sigh. I don't know what it is about this show. It has amazing actors. I mean really you'd be hard pressed to find a better ensemble. It has great writers. It does! But something just goes terribly wrong. Like marshmallow Fluff and Chanel. Each great in their own right, but terrible together.

Addison barrels into her apartment all damp and glisteny. She is on the phone with her new BFF Pete. She has been alone all day -- she even jogged alone! -- and she wants her friend back. As if Naomi jogs anywhere but to the bakery. Pete doesn't think it is likely that Naomi will re-friend her, because of Addison's treachery. Addison thinks he is unhelpful and, like, totally a boy! She gets Violet on the phone. Poor Amy Brenneman. She answers the phone in a shower cap, baggy tshirt and glasses. C'mon people, she is a beautiful woman -- why do this to her? It's cruel and unusual. Violet agrees with Addison that they need to get Sam and Naomi back together. Violet calls Cooper, who is obviously with Charlotte. Does the man do nothing but have fantasy-driven sex with his supposedly important and should-be-busier secret girlfriend? Cooper agrees that they need to have an intervention. For Sam and Naomi, not for his pervy self. But before the conference call gaggle can plan anything, Cooper hangs up to fulfill a naughty schoolgirl fantasy that is wildly inappropriate for a pediatrician. Addison's doorbell rings. It's her Man from SWAT. He's bearing takeout and a movie and the kind of perma-stubble that makes every girl's (and Andrew Ridgely's) heart go pitter pat. Addison hangs up on Violet and Pete.

The next day, Addison and Violet feng shui the cupcakes and organize the coffee cups in preparation for the impending office intervention. As they arrange things Addison asks Violet about sex rules. Not bondingly, but professionally. Addison and Christopher haven't consummated their relationship yet and Addison mumbles about rules and not wanting to screw it up (figuratively or literally) and it is when she is rambling coherently like this that you really remember she was on Grey's Anatomy. Violet tells her she needs a therapist, but before she can hand her a business card or elaborate, Pete interrupts with Cooper and Dell in tow. Sam and Naomi are on their way up. It's Intervention Time! Addison cancelled their patients (patients? what patients?) and the officemates have decided to lock Sam and Naomi into the conference room until they work out a way to lead the practice together. The way it used to be. They leave them with forty cupcakes and no milk, so it's cruel, but it should produce results quickly.