Religion: Why Anne Rice got it right, and Christians got it wrong.

“My sense of hopelessness was overwhelming. What I wanted to do was pull some massive emergency brake on the universe, like the brakes I’d seen on the subways during our school trip to New York City. I wanted to call a time out, to demand that everybody just STOP until I could understand everything. I suppose this urge to force the entire universe to stop in its tracks until I could get a grip on myself might have been the beginning of my “control issues”….

I should say here that I’m aware not everyone goes through this kind of metaphysical crisis. Some of us are hardwired for anxiety about mortality, while some of us just seem more comfortable with the whole deal. You meet lots of apathetic people in this world, of course, but you also meet some people who seem to be able to gracefully accept the terms upon which the universe operates and who genuinely don’t seem troubled by its paradoxes and injustices…

Letting go, of course, is a scary enterprise for those of us who believe that the world revolves only because it has a handle on the top of it which we personally turn, and that if we were to drop this handle for even a moment, well – that would be the end of the universe…. Sit quietly for now and cease your relentless participation. Watch what happens. The birds do not crash dead out of the sky in mid-flight, after all. The trees do not wither and die, the rivers do not run red with blood. Life continues to go on…. why are you so sure that your micromanagement of every moment in this whole world is so essential? Why don’t you let it be?”


The above excerpts are from Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love. She is such a lovable protagonist in the story, and her struggles really resonated with me.

I’ve wanted to write a post about my faith for a long time, but I’ve always been apprehensive. There are those who I used to attend church with who, I’m sure, are wondering why I haven’t been going, and what stopped me. This pretty much sums it up for those people. And then there are those who know me more for who I am now, and I hope you’ll consider the thoughts below. Believe me, it took awhile to come to these conclusions.

I don’t want to offend, hurt, or slander anyone, and I certainly don’t want to cause any issues with my family and friends, but I can’t stand by and watch some of the atrocities that take place in our country in the name of religion with a clean conscience. So…. if you’re prone to anger about your personal brand of religion, you may want to abandon the post here.


I can’t stand Christianity any longer.

I say that without a shred of guilt.

There are so many things I’d love to say about Jesus, but I don’t even know where to start. He was everything I could ever hope to be. He was loving to all. Patient, kind, caring, and forgiving. He sought out those who had been cast out by society, and made them his family. He instructed those who wanted to follow him to give up all they had, and didn’t give a whip about the rules put in place by his religious predecessors who were in power when he was on earth.

In short? He was a communist, a revolutionary, and hung out with the grunge of society.

But today’s Christians are no longer synonymous with the teachings of Christ.

Christians are concerned with their dogma. They are repeating the follies of the Jewish leadership of Jesus’ day, and putting more stock in their rules and pointing out the sin in others than setting aside their judgments in favor of mercy, kindness, and selflessness. They are concerned about everyone infringing on their rights (TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION! TEA PARTY! PRAYER IN SCHOOLS!), but give little thought to the way they infringe upon others.

I know this is true. I was once one of them.

I used to think about the world as it affected ME. As a cashier at Publix when I went to school in Florida, I wanted to know why the people with the coolest new phone and expensive clothes, driving away in an Escalade, were the ones who used food stamps in the checkout line. I wanted to know why those people had the nice things, when I was working, driving a crappy old Saturn, and hadn’t bought new clothes in months. (Oh, and I still drive that “crappy” old Saturn, 6 years later. Not so crappy, perhaps?)

I wanted to know why gay people wanted to get married, like they were REAL couples. They were just people who were into some REALLY sick sexual practices. Why should we, the “normal” ones, validate their illness by calling it “love”?

Seriously. These are the disgusting thoughts that permeated my brain.

I cannot explain the guilt I hold in my heart for the straight up malice I felt towards people who weren’t like me. My world revolved around trying to “convert” people by telling them why they were wrong, and I was right.

Universe, I am so sorry for my thoughts and actions. I was a fool.

The death of one of my high school friends was my breaking point. He was someone who I loved very much, but I pushed away when I became a “Christian” because he was gay, and I didn’t agree with his life choice. It wasn’t a conscious thing at the time…. I just moved in another direction, and he moved in his. But when he died, I faced a startling reality: in the belief system I embraced, this man would be cast into hell for all eternity for something he never chose…. just always *was*.

This simply could not be. He had one of the most joyful hearts out of anyone I ever met, and a beautiful soul.

From then on, I had a serious problem with the “god” that could, by the “rules” of the Bible, cast such a soul into eternal damnation. I couldn’t wrap my mind around a religion that would embrace such an idea, and let it be such a major part of their “worship” and “ministry”.

“Why, God, would you create such a rule book, knowing its contents would cast so many into eternal torment?”

“Why, God, would you create beings who were attracted to the opposite sex from birth, and then cast them away forever because of it?”

“Why, God, would you damn anyone for eternity for something they did in this short life we live on earth in comparison? How does that punishment fit the crime?”

“If we were made in Your image, with your feelings and compassion, what kind of being are you that you could cast any soul into eternal damnation? Why would I worship you, in that case?”

I had questions. I had concerns. And when I took them to an elder at the church I attended, his answer was, “Darlin’, you’re whittlin’ on God’s end of the stick.”

This may be a fair assessment. If there *was* a God, judgement was HIS territory, not mine. What happened to someone’s soul was not up to me! What a relief! But why, then, did I not feel any better?

It was because I was looking for a black and white; an easy judgement. What I’d always been taught is that there was a clear cut right and wrong in every situation. Gays are sinners, and are going to hell. Dancing is evil, because if you dance, you *will* lust. Drinking is bad, because being drunk is bad, and if you drink, you will get drunk and lose your ability to make decisions. Not working for your own money is lazy and sinful. All of these observations are easy teaching tools for those who cannot use their own conscience as their guide, and need someone else to tell them what is good and bad, yes. But for the rest of us, life is simply not black and white. It’s a shade of grey.

Once I came to this conclusion, life changed around me. People on welfare became people in need instead of lazy people who avoid work. Gay people stopped becoming evil sinners with no regard for God, and became friends, family, and loved ones to me. Alcohol became an occasional indulgence in small amounts with meals, and dancing became a source of pure joy. But my questions about the creator remained. Is there one God? Where did the Bible *really* come from? Should I join one specific church, and if I don’t, will I really go to hell for all eternity?


Where do I stand, after all of this?

I decided to just let go.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know for sure if there’s anything after this life or not. I don’t know if there’s a “master plan”; after all, the world today feels like a series of horrible things happening to good people who don’t deserve it. My amazing mother-in-law had a stroke in her early 50’s. One of my friends just went through her sixth round of cancer at the ripe old age of 21. And people who desperately want children are slapped in the face by those who carelessly mishandle their bodies, and ‘dispose’ of their babies, because they’re inconvenient at the time.

But the beautiful thing about life is that I don’t *have* to have all the answers.

As Anne Rice put so well, “I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life…. but I remain committed to Christ, as always.” 

Christ was amazing. His mission was clear. “Love one another as I have loved you.”

I don’t believe that is the mission of many churches today. Until I find a church that seems to make Christ’s mission their own, I’ll stick to my guns, and go at it alone. I refuse to be part of a group that drags the name of Christ through the mud with hate, willful misunderstanding, and a complete lack of regard for Christ’s true message.

I will, however, boldly go forward and assist anyone who asks for help. I’ll give to causes that are working hard to help those in need. I’ll joyfully pay my taxes, knowing that, even though some people DO take advantage of the system, those who truly need assistance will get it. And I’ll try to see Jesus in every person I meet, whether they’re Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Gay, Straight, or otherwise.

If you made it to the end of this post, thanks for reading the ramblings of a doubting Thomas. If you’re a “Christian”, please consider your actions, your words, and even the looks you give others. Love like Jesus commanded you to love, because you claim to worship him. Forgive. Give what you can. Stop worrying about being taken advantage of, about the way the world impacts YOU, and instead, think about how you can impact the world in ways you can be proud of. Maybe, then, the world will be more apt to hear Christ’s message from you. If you’re not a Christian….. think about how you’d want to be treated, and reciprocate.

Easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy, right?


His Story


My name is Colin. I belong to the talented, beautiful, brave woman that runs things around here.

You know her as Aubrey.

I know her as the love of my life, my best friend, my partner-in-crime (isn’t it funny that the hyphens there make you read that faster? Like partnerincrime?), and the best part of any of my days. While you get to address her by her name, I get the pleasure of using varied monikers that have sentimental attachment to them, such as babe, honey, sweetness, sexy lady, wifey, my love… you get the picture. In fact, those names are so commonplace that when I call her Aubrey, she responds with a confused face, and then proclaims, “That sounds weird. Don’t call me that.” I do this when I need to get her attention away from things like the supernaturally good looks of the Winchester brothers.

I know exactly what she sees in them.

She is exceedingly sneaky (read: buys gifts as if trained by ninjas), kind, joyful, generous, considerate, witty, sympathetic, sweet, selfless, smells nice… She’s an amazing cook, and she’s always whipping up some delicious baked good; the entirety of which she intends for me (or our bachelor coworkers) to eat.

"Should I make more for the boys?"

We were talking the other day, and she couldn’t remember the last time she thought of what she, alone, wanted. Which is not to say that she doesn’t know what she wants, but she takes everyone else’s desires into account before she thinks of her own.

Aubrey has been an adult for a long time. Her parents and siblings depended on her a lot when she was younger and living at home. They all still depend on her, but it’s less practical (chauffeuring, helping mom and dad manage the kids), and more emotional. She is an elder of sorts within her family, with her sisters, brother, and even her parents coming to her to talk things out, get advice, and make decisions. Basically, she’s the Dalai Lama of her clan.

"This guy knows."

If Aubrey is anything, she is a nurturer. A caregiver. She is as self-sacrificial a lady as I have ever known. She is a tremendous source of confidence, reassurance, and encouragement. I am sublimely fortunate to bask in the warming glow of her limitless, effortless, unconditional love.

There is one word to encapsulate all of these traits.


But because of the events of the last two years, even writing that word feels like a slap across the face. Worse, it feels like slapping Aubrey across the face. Because she IS a mother. Born and bred, she’s a mother. The fact that we haven’t had kids doesn’t change that. That would be like saying that Superman isn’t Superman when he’s not wearing his costume.

"I am SO not Superman."

It’s a ridiculous premise, because a) he’s ALWAYS wearing his costume under his Clark Kent garb, and b) the costume is not what makes him Superman.

I’ve derailed a bit.

Aubrey has been asking me to write a guest post for as long as she’s had this blog, because she says that of the many women out there that have PCOS, there are only a small portion that write about what it’s like to experience it.

Trench Journalism of PCOS, as it were.

Of the few women that do write about it, she hasn’t seen any accounts from the men’s side. At first, focusing on how PCOS affects the man seemed equivalent to asking how British mice felt during the Blitz.

"Well, this sucks."

Yes, things did suck for those mice. But when compared to the roughly 40,000 civilian lives that were lost during that operation, the fate of actively exterminated pests probably wasn’t very high on anyone’s checklist.

But how we mice and men feel, and how these trials impact us is interesting and important to Aubrey.

Again, here she is, dealing with some of the weightiest issues she’s ever had… thinking about others.

I have been reticent to divulge my feelings on this whole ordeal, if for no other reason than I don’t want to compound the hopelessness that rears its ugly head every time another month falls off the calendar with no measurable progress. Aubrey explained that without any feedback from my end, positive or negative, it makes her feel like she’s in this by herself.

Which is absolutely inexcusable.

She’s not in this by herself. We face everything else as a couple, a pair, a team; why wouldn’t we face this extremely intimate issue together?

"We prefer to think of it as 'Our Nausea.'"

So here I am, to discuss PCOS from the male side. Or at least, my side.

First of all, I feel guilt. I don’t know why. I’m not Dr. Doom, and I didn’t point any kind of radioactive/genetically altered/cosmic ray-filled weapon at my wife. But I still feel responsible in some way. Like maybe I could have done something to prevent this.

Then I realize, no. No. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. There have been complications with her cycles, hormones, and insulin resistance for a long time. Nobody did this on purpose, sometimes crappy things just happen. Then I feel helpless.

Helpless is where I live.

If PCOS were a state, Helpless would be my city. I would live on Helpless Avenue, read the Helpless Times, and drink milk from the Helpless Dairy.

During one discussion with Aubrey, to describe how I felt, I used the term “impotent.” She looked at me and said, “Well, at least you’re not actually impotent,” implying that she was. I think I died a little when that happened. Not because I felt like it was a dig at me, or even thought she was mad at me. It pained me to see her reaction to that word. That reaction taught me precisely how much she blames herself for our situation.

To be clear, I do not blame my wife at all.

That’s why it is so hard to watch her blame herself. That’s where part of the helplessness seeps in. There’s not anything I can do or say to make her stop feeling the way she feels. To ease the burden that she heaps upon herself. When she’s low, the best I feel like I can do is hold her and tell her I love her.

So by this point, I feel useless on two levels: 1) I can’t do anything to change the state of her physical condition, and 2) I can’t do anything to change the state of her emotional condition.

"So I hit him in the shoe with my face."

Okay. Let’s see… Guilt, helplessness… Oh yeah. The pure frustration of the process.

The first doctor we saw was, in my opinion, disinterested and not very forthcoming with information. There were tests that have only recently taken place that we should have had performed at the onset of our consultations.

There was the Metformin, which is supposed to help women that suffer from PCOS, and it helped Aubrey in some ways, but not the ways we were hoping for. There were also side effects (or maybe just effects) that were unpleasant. This was also when blood draws were almost weekly. If you haven’t caught this from previous entries of hers, Aubrey no likey needles. So that became a struggle all by itself.

Then there was what I’ll refer to as The Progesterone Tribulation.

Heavy doses of hormones to help Aubrey’s ovulation. This isn’t a widely-used or effectively proven process, but we were hopeful. There were a lot of doses. Each took a bigger toll than the last. It was bad enough at one point that we both considered scrapping this whole deal. If it was this bad, and ineffective, maybe we didn’t want to continue down this road to the possible horrors that awaited us.

When Dr. #1 left the practice suddenly, our second doctor lent some credence to our misgivings about her. The second doctor was much more direct with information, which was important to Aubrey, and put me at ease. However, our time with her was cut short, when after prescribing the highest amount of Clomid she was comfortable with, there was no change. She referred us to the specialist we’re currently seeing at Vanderbilt, and we both liked this guy right off the bat.

And although we like this new doc, and we remain hopeful that we’ll see progress, this makes the third doctor we’ve seen. I realize as I type this that three doctors in two years doesn’t sound like a lot, and it probably isn’t, but as we eliminate possibilities, the road we travel is getting narrower and narrower. And in a way, it seems like we revisit the same things. Which makes me feel like Sisyphus, wondering if we’ll have to keep pushing this same boulder up this same hill over, and over, and over.

Frustration. Helplessness. Guilt. All feeding on each other, running a rut in my mind.

"Are you tired? 'Cause you been running through my mind allllllll day."

We have talked about how this will all be worth it to hold our baby in our arms, and see our ridiculously curly hair mashed together on that poor child’s head. How I will melt and give my daughter whatever she wants. How Aubrey will want our boys to get in trouble, get dirty, get dangerous.

We’ve also talked about how it’s possible that we may never have biological children. We decided we will try to adopt, foster, and if those don’t work out, we’ll jut spoil the crap out of the kids that are already in our lives. Our nephews, nieces, and friends’ kids that we love to pieces.

Hey, that rhymed. I am a poet and did not realize.

Ultimately, I married my wife because I love her, I can’t live without her, and I want to grow old with her. Yes, this has been a trying time in our life, and we’ve each had our own hardest moments. But we’re still here. We still laugh, we still enjoy hearing good news about others that have struggled with fertility issues, and we still try.

Children would be awesome, but being with my wife is already awesome. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thrilled and grateful to be married to the amazing woman who said “I do” almost five years ago, children or no children.

Things will be hard.

Things will hurt.

Things will go on.

You still live.

You still love.

You still hope.

The Waiting Game: I’m bad at it.

The last few weeks have really just been a series of distractions. I went and saw “The Hunger Games”, which wasn’t a *great* movie (shaky handy-cam crap, anyone?), but was a fairly decent representation of the book, so I enjoyed it.

I also shot a gun for the first time in my life. It was a really interesting experience, as I’d always just seen them as scary and unpredictable. You see people dying of accidental gun shot wounds all the time on tv and in the newspaper, but living in the south, it seems like everyone has a gun, including a lot of my D&D playin’, math rock lovin’, goofy-ass friends at work. They offered to take my husband and me out shooting, so even if a bit trepidatious at the suggestion, I went along.

And it was FUN.

"Hey there, Mr. Target. I've got a baby rifle, and I don't know how to use it. Be warned!"

I also discovered how breathtaking Kentucky can be. The beautiful open space is something I never really experienced growing up, and driving out to our friend’s 36+ acre family property was enough to make the nature nut in me well up with warm fuzzies and sighs, and made me realize that I would love to raise a family on a good amount of open, beautiful land.

We actually got to Huck Finn-in’ while there, and walked through the woods in their dried up creek bed, where they’d found a bunch of arrowheads and awesome fossilized coral. They also had this small rock quarry, and my friend, whose parents owned the place, said he’d actually hid his life savings as a kid out there (a mere $180 at the time, but a *treasure* to him!). How amazing would it be to have 36 acres to play on as a kid, complete with a creek, a rock quarry, and plenty of new trees/plants/animals to discover and explore?

I was very grateful for these distractions.


I’m horrible at waiting. Waiting until we can afford to buy a house, or waiting to see large numbers come off the scale when trying a new diet/exercise plan. Waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven, or, more to the point, waiting between the time where I’m supposed to have ovulated to the time when I can check to see if I’m preggo.

I want it NOW.

I found out a few weeks ago that my current MD didn’t think they could treat me anymore, which was both good and bad, in my estimation. But after I heard that, and got the date of my referral, my brain has been working on overdrive, trying to find things to keep myself distracted from the WAITING.

I’ve cooked a LOT. I’ve baked even more. I created my own brownie recipe from scratch (which, thank heavens, were delivered to the boys for taking us shooting … They were GOOD), as well as my own buttermilk biscuit recipe. I’ve cleaned my house, top to bottom, and taken the dogs out to the several acres of open field across from our apartment to play with the frisbee more times than I can count. I even picked up an additional shift at work to keep myself busy!

It’s still not enough.

My brain keeps pondering. Keeps wondering, “What are they going to say? Will they say you’re too fat to treat? Will they want to start some more crazy fertility drugs?! Will they want to immediately start trying something a bit more invasive, like in-vitro?”

Luckily, my new MD is both an OB/GYN, and a Reproductive Endocrinologist. I think I really should’ve been seeing an RE from the start, since that’s where the majority of my issues stem from. (Whacky progesterone, why you be so crazy?!)

I know that there are some questions I should definitely be asking such as, “Do you think a Paleo/Primal lifestyle would aid in regaining my fertility?”, or “Is there a magic weight loss solution for women with PCOS that *actually* works?”

I’m hoping he takes my blood, analyses it, isolates the issue, and helps me to fix it.

I hope I’m not irreparably broken.

And I’m just hopeful, in general, that during these times, I develop the patience of a saint, and learn to wait in peace.


What do you use as a distraction while you’re waiting?

Media: How music and movie quotes are my preferred form of communication.

Do you ever have a moment where your own words seem to fail you, and you wish you could just communicate with a song, or with a scene from a movie?

Yeah, well…. I sort of do that, anyway.

It all began as a child. My Dad worked in various roles for a large Midwestern chain of video stores when I was growing up, and we were always getting “screeners” in the mail; distributors wanted the company my Dad worked for to buy a bunch of copies of their movie, so they sent them free copies before they were released.

Lucky me.

Usually, they were crappy movies that needed plugging. Like, my Dad never got things like Jurassic Park, Titanic, Home Alone, or Disney movies, since none of them needed to be pushed hard by their distributors. People would most likely buy those movies in mass quantities for their video stores, because people would rent them in droves.

I ended up seeing a lot of movies I probably shouldn’t have at that age, but, I think, are now a solid part of how I relate to the world. The same goes for music, though.

I was raised on MTV. I would come home from school, and I couldn’t wait to see what was on BuzzKill. I couldn’t wait to watch Daria, and even mores so, I couldn’t get enough MUSIC. I loved Mariah Carey, Aerosmith, Boyz II Men, Green Day, the Smashing Pumpkins, Salt n Pepa, Oasis, Alanis Morissette……I even had one of those music subscriptions, where you bought one CD, and they sent you fifty gazillion more for a cheaper price. I still have my “The Cardigans” cd…. I also still have “Tails” by Lisa Loeb.

Media taught me how to feel. I remember wondering why I wanted to cry when I heard “Your House” by Alanis Morissette for the first time. Why am I so sad? Why do I feel physical pain when I hear this song? I wasn’t sad and hurting a moment ago, and now, I feel like I’ve been grounded for a month and punched in the stomach! Around this same time, I saw “The Lion King” in the movie theater, and it was the first time I remember sobbing when seeing a movie.

Fortunately, as I grew up, I started using my media to my own benefit. I use it as a way of communicating with my family, friends, and the outside world.

One of the earliest memories I have of this being true was getting “Scream” as a screener. The dialogue in that movie was so “smart” for the teenagers that were lucky enough to be its vessel. (Little did I know, that’s just the way Kevin Williamson is when writing for teens.) I remember spouting the lines from that movie with my sister, without really thinking about it.


“It’s called TACT, you —-rag!”

“Did you really put her liver in the mailbox? Because I heard they found her liver in the mailbox next to her spleen and her pancreas.”

I really think that started it all.

As a freshman in High School, I remember perfecting my Austin Powers/Dr. Evil impression, and making people laugh, complete with flailed pinky and evil laugh. (If I could go back and correct my outfits/behavior/awkwardness, I don’t think I would…. I’m a dork, and I’m okay with it.)

From that point on, I have such vivid memories of meeting new friends based on their interests and ability to quote things I loved. My group of friends later in High School were proficient in quoting Dumb and Dumber, which, obviously, was a necessity.

When I met my husband, I knew he was “The One” for SO many reasons….. but one of them was his wide-ranging love of Media. He could not only quote SO many movies, but he used those quotes to explain his feelings in certain situations so I cold understand them better.

“Husband always had a way of explainin’ thangs in a way I could understayund theyum.”

Also heard in the Hammond house: "I must'a drank me about 15 Docta Peppas."


I know when he’s trying to really communicate with me when he starts a sentence in the following fashion: “It’s like, in (Movie Title), when (Character) says……”. It’s perfection. As long as you know the movie, you can understand the feeling.

In no particular order, here are a bunch of quotes that are used in everyday Hammond life:

1. Flames….. on the side of my face….. HEAVING breaths…..

One of our fave movies in the Hammond house is Clue, featuring a group of actors and actresses that understand subtle comedy. When we’re explaining how furious we were, the above quote always feels right.

2. Anything from “That Thing You Do”.

Some examples?

A man in a REALLY NICE camper wants to put our SONG on the RADIO! Gimme a pen…. I’m signing, you’re signing, we’re ALL signing!

Preeeeeeesidential flashcards?”

 The ONEders!”
“It looks like the O-N-Eeders.”
“No, the ONEders!!”
“Got it, looks like the Oneeders.

There is always a quote from this movie that is applicable to everyday life.

3. “We’ve got NO FOOD….. We’ve got NO JOBS….. Our pet’s HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!!!

C’mon. I’m sure most of you say this at your house all the time. If you’re not sure where this quote comes from, I’m not sure about our potential for friendship.

4. Anything from “Super Troopers”.

I’ve you’ve missed this movie, you’ve missed it all. Such gems as, “MOVE THAT GIGANTIC COTTON CANDY!” and the entire “Shenanigans” conversation are readily available in many Hammond conversations. I haven’t laughed as hard watching a movie since seeing Dumb and Dumber in the movie theater as a kid.

Also…. seriously? The “snozzberries” kid is married to Christina Hendricks?! I have no idea how that happened.

5. Most Christopher Guest movies.

We love Christopher Guest. We love “Best in Show”, “Waiting For Guffman”, “A Mighty Wind”…. and my husband loves “This is Spinal Tap”.

Some faves?

And I’ll tell you why I can’t put up with you people: because you’re BASTARD people! That’s what you are! You’re just bastard people! And I’m goin’ home and I’m gonna… I’m gonna BITE MY PILLOW, is what I’m gonna do! ” – Waiting for Guffman

Well, you OBVIOUSLY don’t know my DOG!” – Best in Show

Don’t leave them cold and damp! Use our buttocks straps and penis clamp! Suuuuure flo, Suuuuure flo.” – A Mighty Wind

(I’m not sure why I always sing that….. maybe because the melody is catchy? Sure. Let’s go with that.)


Those are just off the top of my head.

Remember when we made Mix Tapes? When that was considered to be the ultimate form of communication?

And, I mean, it used to be HARD to make a mix tape. You’d have to record each song on cassette tape perfectly. You’d write down the songs first, to make sure that you get that *perfect* order to things. Then laboriously record each one, making sure to have an appropriate break between songs, and that each side of the tape had enough space to record exactly what you needed.

When all was said and done, if you were like me, you had something that really echoed what you felt inside.

That was another thing that made me fall in love with my husband. His ability to make a PHENOMENAL “mix tape”, even if it was in the form of a CD instead of a cassette. Each song would just feed the next, and could make me feel almost anything at all. (I love him. Just a side note.)

What quotes get thrown around in your house? What movies and music do you use to communicate, when your own words seem to fail?