Chocolate has been considered an aphrodisiac, a stimulant, and a go-to gift for Valentine's Day. But, in cake form, chocolate form has healing properties that fill the heart just as much as it fills out the hips. And as I ate chocolate cake for dinner today, I felt a little bit of the happiness that a delicious, smooth chocolate cake can bring...and for just a few minutes, I forgot about the other "c" words that are populating my life these days.
So I went to see the cancer doctor last week. Thankfully, he didn't once mention the words "cancer" or "tumor" or "infertility." That felt like a small victory in of itself, considering what the conga line in my head had been dancing to the days preceding the appointment and in the 45 minutes waiting in the cancer center (or centre, as Canadians call it). However, any enlightenment I had been hoping to receive as to why I've been unable to get un-pregnant for the last 7 months was not to be had during the appointment. Rather, the straight-forward doc told me that I have either (a) tissue leftover from pregnancy #1 that was embedded in my lady parts and needed a couple good visits from Aunt Flo to finally leave me the heck alone, (b) a partial mole pregnancy, or (c) a full molar pregnancy. Thankfully, these options were not indicative of anything that should reappear in future attempts of producing a little one. However, he did not know which one of the three it was.
After throwing around medical lingo for a few minutes, he said that I would need to have my blood checked weekly at their cancer clinic (note: it's about 45 minutes to an hour away from my apartment) while they performed a biopsy analysis that would take three weeks to complete. Depending on the results from all these tests and depending on if it was Option A, Option B, or Option C, he said that they would either wait for me to get back to normal and just keep an eye on me (in other words, what they have been doing the last six months) or give me a stronger dose of chemotherapy to eradicate the unwanted cells. He then said that the chemotherapy option is not one they prescribe lightly, and that they would most likely only do it in the event of my hCG levels rising over the time I'm being monitored by them. Given my history (see the last blog entry), I was not super hopeful that my levels would cooperate. It appears that I was smart in tempering my hope.
I was able to sign up this morning to check my medical records online (yay for medical advances that allow such handy tools!) and low and behold, there was my hCG level from last Wednesday. It was at 61. The previous week it was at 47. The week before it was at 45. So....if you're a mathematician or just a normal person like me, you can see that the recent trend is going in the direction OPPOSITE of what is necessary to avoid chemotherapy. Oh goodie. The handy online tool also included the letter the cancer doc wrote to Early Pregnancy doc about his visit with me, and included the name of the chemotherapy drug that they would prescribe in the event of such stupidness occurring. I did what any Google veteran would do and googled said type of chemotherapy. Holy horror show, people. Holy. Horror. Show. Things like this chemotherapy can kill tissue around its injection site, can cause complete hair loss, and you have to wait a year after your levels go back to normal to be able to try to get preggers again...among other scary side effects. Yikes. YIKES.
So what did I do post the traumatic Googling session? I ate chocolate cake. And for the record and all the mathematicians out there: Chocolate and Cake > Cancer and Chemotherapy. I go back tomorrow for another blood test, and will do so each week until July 18th, at which point I'll meet with the cancer doc again and determine the course of action for getting un-pregnant. Although I'm not a fortune teller or a prognosticator extraordinaire, I'm guessing that I will be eating chocolate cake on July 18th. Thank heavens for the little happies in life that outweigh (even if for just a little bit) the uglies we encounter.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The Quest for Normalcy and the Spectacular Failure
Being normal is not overrated.
I found out I was five weeks pregnant 3 days after I defended my dissertation proposal in early November 2011. I was thrilled. I was one step (granted, a 300 page step) away from graduating with my Ph.D. and was starting my family. Due in July, I would be able to take maternity leave for fall semester, and then return to school with a six month old in time for me to defend my dissertation and graduate, ready for the next adventure my little family was going to have.
Less than three weeks later, after a small amount of bleeding and a ridiculously long E.R. visit and then a referral to an Early Pregnancy Clinic, I found out that I was in the process of miscarrying, and that there was no way for the pregnancy to be saved. Heartbroken and numb and crying one of those truly ugly cries, I listened as the doctor said that I would need a D&C surgery that Friday in order to complete the miscarriage. One painful surgery later (seriously, why did no one tell me that the little pills they give you before hand would cause my body to stage its own mini-revolution?), armed with a box of doughnuts and rice pudding, I was ready to move on from this depressing turn of events.
I found out I was five weeks pregnant 3 days after I defended my dissertation proposal in early November 2011. I was thrilled. I was one step (granted, a 300 page step) away from graduating with my Ph.D. and was starting my family. Due in July, I would be able to take maternity leave for fall semester, and then return to school with a six month old in time for me to defend my dissertation and graduate, ready for the next adventure my little family was going to have.
Less than three weeks later, after a small amount of bleeding and a ridiculously long E.R. visit and then a referral to an Early Pregnancy Clinic, I found out that I was in the process of miscarrying, and that there was no way for the pregnancy to be saved. Heartbroken and numb and crying one of those truly ugly cries, I listened as the doctor said that I would need a D&C surgery that Friday in order to complete the miscarriage. One painful surgery later (seriously, why did no one tell me that the little pills they give you before hand would cause my body to stage its own mini-revolution?), armed with a box of doughnuts and rice pudding, I was ready to move on from this depressing turn of events.
Christmas was enjoyable, as the Mr. and I were able to go to Utah for a couple of weeks and spend time with family and away from the hurt that permeated our lives back at home. I returned to Toronto, ready to teach and to rock and roll again with my life. I went to a follow-up doctor's appointment, just to make sure things were returning to normal as they should, because, you know. After the painful surgery, how could things NOT go back to normal?
Apparently, my body doesn't do normal.
At the first doctor's appointment, after peeing in the cup and doing the litmus paper preggers test thing they do, it showed that I was pregnant. Yay. Wait. No. Not yay. WHAT? This was not a possible result. So. The not-so-knowledgeable family doc sent me to get blood work and to have an ultrasound done. I returned armed with these results: my beta levels (HCG/preggers hormone) were at about 1100. Normal = 0. Preggers = doubling every day. Not Normal = Hovering around 1100.
The doc told me to get myself to an urgent care clinic/ER, in case this was a new pregnancy that was not going well, such as a molar pregnancy or an ectopic pregnancy. After another nastily long E.R. visit (8 hours +), we were told by the OBGYN on call that he had no idea what was wrong with me, but that it was probably one of three things, and that I should come to his personal office in three days time. Being the good girl that I am, I did. He did a biopsy (OWWW. Run if you ever hear an OBGYN say you are getting one) and then said that it was either a molar pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, or tissue left over from the D&C that was causing trouble. In any case, I should not be pregnant and was not going to be delivering a kid any time soon. However, in order to get my body back to its regularly scheduled programming, I needed to get my beta level to 0 and get rid of said preggersness that was going on in my body. He referred me to the Early Pregnancy Clinic to get the necessary miracle drug that would do this. The same clinic where I found out that I was in the process of miscarrying. Delightful, really.
Apparently, my body doesn't do normal.
At the first doctor's appointment, after peeing in the cup and doing the litmus paper preggers test thing they do, it showed that I was pregnant. Yay. Wait. No. Not yay. WHAT? This was not a possible result. So. The not-so-knowledgeable family doc sent me to get blood work and to have an ultrasound done. I returned armed with these results: my beta levels (HCG/preggers hormone) were at about 1100. Normal = 0. Preggers = doubling every day. Not Normal = Hovering around 1100.
The doc told me to get myself to an urgent care clinic/ER, in case this was a new pregnancy that was not going well, such as a molar pregnancy or an ectopic pregnancy. After another nastily long E.R. visit (8 hours +), we were told by the OBGYN on call that he had no idea what was wrong with me, but that it was probably one of three things, and that I should come to his personal office in three days time. Being the good girl that I am, I did. He did a biopsy (OWWW. Run if you ever hear an OBGYN say you are getting one) and then said that it was either a molar pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, or tissue left over from the D&C that was causing trouble. In any case, I should not be pregnant and was not going to be delivering a kid any time soon. However, in order to get my body back to its regularly scheduled programming, I needed to get my beta level to 0 and get rid of said preggersness that was going on in my body. He referred me to the Early Pregnancy Clinic to get the necessary miracle drug that would do this. The same clinic where I found out that I was in the process of miscarrying. Delightful, really.
I go there, and after talking with another OBGYN and the happy nurse, Heather, I was told that I needed to go for an ultrasound, just to make SURE that something else wasn't going on down there, other than the three options. Note: This was the 4th ultrasound (and not of the more pleasant variety) in a 4 day period. I had to return two days later to meet with ANOTHER OBGYN who finally had the guts to prescribe a form of chemotherapy (methotraxate) that kills preggers tissue and returns women's levels to 0 usually within about a month. Only hitch? I couldn't try to get pregnant again for 6 months. Color me sad. But, what was I supposed to do? I was and was not pregnant. Those two things do not go together. So I had to get un-pregnant. And that required the chemo shot. Three days later, after my beta testing I found out that the shot was working and my numbers were going down. YAY! There was hope on the horizon.
Remember: my body doesn't do normal.
It's now June. Almost July. My levels have gone down most weeks, but up others. Not to the point where I would be pregnant, but just enough to be a nuisance. And to require another methotraxate shot in April. (Yes, that meant that the six month clock for trying to get preggers again started over, which, for any of you keeping track of dates, would mean that I could start trying again ONE YEAR after first getting pregnant). My levels as of last week had gone from 45 to 47. I stayed to talk with the OBGYN at the Early Pregnancy Clinic (where, like "Cheers," everybody knows my name because I have been going there for 6 months straight, like clock-work, once a week). He said that I seem to have particularly aggressive and resistant placental tissue and that in order to eradicate the thing, he thinks I might need a new drug. Or something else surgery or otherwise related. It's like I have an alien down there, just kicking it in my body, who doesn't want to leave. Where's Will Smith to blow this alien right back to outer space when you need him? This whole new drug or treatment required going to another clinic in the Greater Toronto Area that specializes in molar pregnancies and what nots. My appointment is for tomorrow with the doctor that I was referred to. Upon Googling his name (like any internet savvy person would these days), I found out he specializes in gynecological cancer. Cancer.
I have had numerous breakdowns over the last six months. I haven't been myself. I haven't wanted to talk about it to anyone, really, because if I do, I just cry. And so I just don't talk to many people anymore. It's like a scab that I think gets healed over or at least is starting to heal, and then I get more news that my numbers are going up, or that I need a new drug, or that I have to go visit with a freaking cancer doctor, and the stupid scab just opens wide up again. (Irony of the whole thing: I wanted to be an oncologist when I was growing up. Maybe I should have, and then I wouldn't be so terrified to meet with one tomorrow). I have wondered why my body (on its first try at getting pregnant) had to fail so miserably as to have a miscarriage, and then to be so stubborn as to stay pregnant long after it was necessary to be so. Had I stayed pregnant, I would be due any time. And yet I am still not un-pregnant. It has been 9 months, people. And now I'm going to see a cancer doctor. I wish I knew what all this was supposed to teach me. I thought I was learning patience, humility, trusting in a plan that is greater than my own, learning to be happy for women who were normal and got and stayed pregnant, but at this point, I'm honestly feeling like this is bordering on the territory of cruel and unusual punishment. After staying up all night last night (all nighters are so not for those over the age of 25, let me tell you), crying on and off about everything (because, remember - I've been hormonal for 9 months...just with nothing to show for it...my poor husband deserves a medal of honor and long-suffering, I'm here to tell you. Or some lemon bars. He loves lemon bars.), I don't have any answers.
I always thought I was special. Don't we all? We're told from an early age that we're all special and unique and that we should celebrate our specialness. After meeting with so many doctors I honestly can't remember how many I've met with at this point, however, I have decided that being normal is not a bad thing. I would love "normal" right now. Or to just have one thing be normal in relation to this whole un-pregnancy fiasco. But there are other things in store for me, apparently. Cancer-doctor-requiring things. I think it's safe to say that my quest for normalcy has been a spectacular failure.
Remember: my body doesn't do normal.
It's now June. Almost July. My levels have gone down most weeks, but up others. Not to the point where I would be pregnant, but just enough to be a nuisance. And to require another methotraxate shot in April. (Yes, that meant that the six month clock for trying to get preggers again started over, which, for any of you keeping track of dates, would mean that I could start trying again ONE YEAR after first getting pregnant). My levels as of last week had gone from 45 to 47. I stayed to talk with the OBGYN at the Early Pregnancy Clinic (where, like "Cheers," everybody knows my name because I have been going there for 6 months straight, like clock-work, once a week). He said that I seem to have particularly aggressive and resistant placental tissue and that in order to eradicate the thing, he thinks I might need a new drug. Or something else surgery or otherwise related. It's like I have an alien down there, just kicking it in my body, who doesn't want to leave. Where's Will Smith to blow this alien right back to outer space when you need him? This whole new drug or treatment required going to another clinic in the Greater Toronto Area that specializes in molar pregnancies and what nots. My appointment is for tomorrow with the doctor that I was referred to. Upon Googling his name (like any internet savvy person would these days), I found out he specializes in gynecological cancer. Cancer.
I have had numerous breakdowns over the last six months. I haven't been myself. I haven't wanted to talk about it to anyone, really, because if I do, I just cry. And so I just don't talk to many people anymore. It's like a scab that I think gets healed over or at least is starting to heal, and then I get more news that my numbers are going up, or that I need a new drug, or that I have to go visit with a freaking cancer doctor, and the stupid scab just opens wide up again. (Irony of the whole thing: I wanted to be an oncologist when I was growing up. Maybe I should have, and then I wouldn't be so terrified to meet with one tomorrow). I have wondered why my body (on its first try at getting pregnant) had to fail so miserably as to have a miscarriage, and then to be so stubborn as to stay pregnant long after it was necessary to be so. Had I stayed pregnant, I would be due any time. And yet I am still not un-pregnant. It has been 9 months, people. And now I'm going to see a cancer doctor. I wish I knew what all this was supposed to teach me. I thought I was learning patience, humility, trusting in a plan that is greater than my own, learning to be happy for women who were normal and got and stayed pregnant, but at this point, I'm honestly feeling like this is bordering on the territory of cruel and unusual punishment. After staying up all night last night (all nighters are so not for those over the age of 25, let me tell you), crying on and off about everything (because, remember - I've been hormonal for 9 months...just with nothing to show for it...my poor husband deserves a medal of honor and long-suffering, I'm here to tell you. Or some lemon bars. He loves lemon bars.), I don't have any answers.
I always thought I was special. Don't we all? We're told from an early age that we're all special and unique and that we should celebrate our specialness. After meeting with so many doctors I honestly can't remember how many I've met with at this point, however, I have decided that being normal is not a bad thing. I would love "normal" right now. Or to just have one thing be normal in relation to this whole un-pregnancy fiasco. But there are other things in store for me, apparently. Cancer-doctor-requiring things. I think it's safe to say that my quest for normalcy has been a spectacular failure.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
One year, seven months, and ten days later....
Hi.
To not spend too long trying to inadequately capture everything that has happened since I blogged last, here's the cliff notes version:
In the last year/near future, I
(1) still live in Toronto
(2) passed my comprehensive exams
(3) met and married a Torontonian man
(4) grew my hair out
(5) fell in love with the public library system
(6) am teaching an Intro to Marketing course next semester,(7) successfully mastered the art of baking a multilayered cake
(8) bought a Christmas tree and its ornamental fixings.
Okay, so some of those things are a little more awesome or life-changing than others (*ahem* like buying a Christmas tree - nothing says you are an adult like purchasing your own tree and ornaments), but that's life as I know it right now. Married, living on a student budget, sitting under the lights of her Christmas twinkle lights, with the public library to keep me entertained when I need a break from the studying/class prepping, and lots of sugar to keep me up while I work on the evil thing that shall not be named on this blog. (Hint: Starts with "d" and rhymes with missertation...which is derived from the root word of miserable.)
So, I don't know what has/will take you to my blog, and I don't know what I have to offer you to keep you entertained on a consistent basis (which, if you do want some day-to-day happies, check out TheShoeologist.com or Pinksuedeshoe.com - two blogs by two amazing friends of mine who also happen to be twin sisters, and I don't think it's a coincidence that they both rock. I read their blogs daily and find much to enjoy!). I'm not crafty, though I want to learn how to be. I'm not a fabulous photographer, though if I could pick a hobby that I would totally rock at, that would probably be it. I'm not a fantastic chef, though I do love to bake goodies that bring smiles and happies to those around me. I'm not the girl who can do it all and be it all, and by so doing, share the secrets of successful living, though if I could, I would share every secret with you without reservation. I don't have adorable children that I can show doing adorable things, though if I did, I just might be tempted to sing their adorable praises.
I may not be all the things that I wish I could be and by extension relate the coolness of my life with you. But what I can do is just be me. And so what does that mean for you and what you can expect on this blog? Here's the recipe. (see? I'd love to share recipes. But I need to learn and use them first. So hold that thought and hope for the best for my culinary pursuits):
ME =
* a heaping tablespoon of honesty* a teaspoon of witty neuroticism
* a dash of self-reflection and ponderings on life's oddities, twists, and pitfalls
* 1/4 of a cup of giggles
* 2/3 of a cup of questions that I have yet to answer for myself
* a pinch of cultural references
* a heaping portion of parentheses (because that's just how I roll)
* a sprinkling of gratitude
* with everything baked in a pan of random nonsense
I can't guarantee what the next year will bring in my life or on this blog, but what I can promise is that I will be me, and I will do my best to consistently share mewith you. And if your recipe of life being similar to mine and as such you jive with me, or if you just want to join in the randomness that so often besets life, I hope you come back and visit.
And so....with that....let's begin.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And with that, I leave you with a question/plea for help. I'm celebrating my first Christmas with my husband and I will not be going home, and I don't want to spend the holidays curled up in a corner wishing I was home with my family. So I need Christmas cheer and Christmas traditions to start in my new family. Which leads me to my question:
What are your Christmas traditions that you couldn't live without that inevitably invite the Christmas spirit?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Ooh...pretty
A friend of mine is hosting a give-away on her blog, http://sherbetblossom.blogspot.com/2009/05/pandora-giveaway.html. I highly suggest checking it out, because the bracelet is totally girly pretty!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Bittersweets.
Sometimes, around this time of year, you just need a good laugh, with a hint of sarcasm, an a twinge of truth, a pinch of an alternative perspective, and something for the sweet tooth. Thank you, despair.com. Really. Thank you.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Quotable Quotes
I was reading a qualitative analysis article this weekend. Exciting life I lead, eh? Anyway, I was slogging my way through the 40+ page literary adventure and rightfully tuning in and out at random intervals, though the pages magically kept on being turned, when I found a truly gem of a quote that I think should be shared with all: "The sensation of being bored is usually a signal that you have ceased to think." Dare I say, how true is that? I read that sentence and burst into giggles because I had thought just 30 seconds before how bored I was reading that article. Obviously I had ceased to think, without recognizing that my higher mental operations had recently terminated. Opportune timing for a quippy, and highly applicable quote. I wonder - what other quotes are there that speak to us - or perhaps make us, or those in our close proximity, giggle at opportune moments?
May I offer some examples to get us thinking:
"Marks for trying, George, but I would not allow you to redress my deficit were you the last man on Earth." ("Lost in Austen") - Try using that on someone sometime and see what type of reaction you get. Come on. I triple dog dare you.
"Patience, Grasshopper." (Gilmore Girls - *moment of silence for the yesteryears of quality Gilmore-dom and quick-witted dialogue*)
"Ain't this a geographical oddity. It's two weeks from anywhere." ("O Brother Where Art Thou")
"I'm sorry, Father, but the truth is, this is not my day for talking seriously." "Well, what do you mean, sir?" "I mean that I only talk seriously on the first Tuesday of every month, between the hours of noon and three." ("An Ideal Husband")
"Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." ("An Ideal Husband" - having just one from this show would be criminal.)
"One always passes along good advice. It's the only sensible thing to do with it." ("An Ideal Husband." Okay - to stop at just two would be negligence in the highest order)
"I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delecate, exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did it would prove a serious threat to the upper classes, and probably lead ot acts of violence in Grosvenor Square." (The Importance of Being Earnest")
"You're talking gibberish." ("That Thing You Do")
"Savvy?" ("Pirates of the Caribbean")
"Today, you will have the honor of playing one of the greatest game ever. A game of skill, agility, cunning. A game with one simple rule: DODGE.". . . "The whistle makes me their God." ("Supernatural." Dean. In gym shorts. Tube socks. Red sweatband. Posing as a high school gym teacher. Pure unexpected joy on a Thursday night, let me tell you.)
"It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife." (Do I really need to tell you what this is from? Really?)
Person #1: "Question." Person #2: "Yes, I would date Gregory Smith." (Me. This is a me quote. Shameless self-promotion, I know. But this one consistently gets entertaining reactions when used in everyday conversation.)
I am Prince Caspian." (Okay, once again, do I need to put the movie? Yeah. No. But you may be thinking, "when could I ever use this in everday life? Even if you don't say this to anyone, say it outloud when you're feeling down with a sissy Spanish accent, and it will work its magic. Trust me.)
"Ham Porter: Hey, Smalls, you wanna s'more?
Smalls: Some more of what?
Ham Porter: No, do you wanna s'more?
Smalls: I haven't had anything yet, so how can I have some more of nothing?
Ham Porter: You're killing me Smalls!" ("The Sandlot")
And for the "Psych" montage: "I've been having this recurring dream where I'm flying over Auckland on the back of a swan made primarily of cocoa. His name is Clem." "My pilot's license? It's out back in the Cessna. Or perhaps you're referring to my license to kill. Revoked - problems at the Kazakhstan border. I'd give you the details, but then I'd have to kill you... which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked." "Rally the horses, Jules. We're about to crack your case like an egg. And then we can make umlauts with shallots.... and justice." "Can you check for a John Doe, please? Actually, can you check all the does? Tae-quon, cookie, play, dosee..." "Shawn, this misplaced malevolence you have with the spelling bee is getting monotonous. Stop hating on the bee." "Shawn: Well, at least that gives us the "how". Now we just gotta figure out the "why", which reminds me, Gus, will you please get us those tickets for The Who? Gus: Where?" "You're killing my Jujubees!" "I'm sensing some bad jujumagumbo in here!" "Yes but what isn’t clear is why people always say “goes with out saying” yet still feel compelled to say the thing that was suppose to go with out saying." "The Cheetah is the worst name for a pickup line in the history of mankind. Remember, you treat a woman like a person, then a princess, then a greek goddess, and then a person again. Besides, I think Operation Colonel Sugarlemons is a much better move for a place like this." "That's like a genocide of color... somewhere a rainbow is weeping." "Shawn: Wanna split a pineapple? Alice Bundy: I'm sorry, do I know you?
Shawn: My name is Ichibod Fletchman. Sticky Icky to my boys. But that's neither here nor there. What's important is that this baby is 82% Hawaiian and I've got all afternoon. Alice Bundy: Are you a crazy person? Shawn: It's funny I was about to ask you the same thing. Only I was going to add "who likes to make toast" to the end of mine." "Gus: You named your fake detective agency "Psych?" Why didn't you just call it "Hey, we're fooling you and the police department; hope we don't make a mistake and somebody dies because of it."
Shawn: First of all, Gus, that name is entirely too long; it would never fit on the window. And secondly, the best way you convince people you're not lying to them is to tell them you are!" "We love you like a brother, well step-brother. Ok maybe like the weird kid that lives down the street and only eats mayonnaise on saltines."
Now. What are your quotable quotes?
May I offer some examples to get us thinking:
"Marks for trying, George, but I would not allow you to redress my deficit were you the last man on Earth." ("Lost in Austen") - Try using that on someone sometime and see what type of reaction you get. Come on. I triple dog dare you.
"Patience, Grasshopper." (Gilmore Girls - *moment of silence for the yesteryears of quality Gilmore-dom and quick-witted dialogue*)
"Ain't this a geographical oddity. It's two weeks from anywhere." ("O Brother Where Art Thou")
"I'm sorry, Father, but the truth is, this is not my day for talking seriously." "Well, what do you mean, sir?" "I mean that I only talk seriously on the first Tuesday of every month, between the hours of noon and three." ("An Ideal Husband")
"Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." ("An Ideal Husband" - having just one from this show would be criminal.)
"One always passes along good advice. It's the only sensible thing to do with it." ("An Ideal Husband." Okay - to stop at just two would be negligence in the highest order)
"I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delecate, exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did it would prove a serious threat to the upper classes, and probably lead ot acts of violence in Grosvenor Square." (The Importance of Being Earnest")
"You're talking gibberish." ("That Thing You Do")
"Savvy?" ("Pirates of the Caribbean")
"Today, you will have the honor of playing one of the greatest game ever. A game of skill, agility, cunning. A game with one simple rule: DODGE.". . . "The whistle makes me their God." ("Supernatural." Dean. In gym shorts. Tube socks. Red sweatband. Posing as a high school gym teacher. Pure unexpected joy on a Thursday night, let me tell you.)
"It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife." (Do I really need to tell you what this is from? Really?)
Person #1: "Question." Person #2: "Yes, I would date Gregory Smith." (Me. This is a me quote. Shameless self-promotion, I know. But this one consistently gets entertaining reactions when used in everyday conversation.)
I am Prince Caspian." (Okay, once again, do I need to put the movie? Yeah. No. But you may be thinking, "when could I ever use this in everday life? Even if you don't say this to anyone, say it outloud when you're feeling down with a sissy Spanish accent, and it will work its magic. Trust me.)
"Ham Porter: Hey, Smalls, you wanna s'more?
Smalls: Some more of what?
Ham Porter: No, do you wanna s'more?
Smalls: I haven't had anything yet, so how can I have some more of nothing?
Ham Porter: You're killing me Smalls!" ("The Sandlot")
And for the "Psych" montage: "I've been having this recurring dream where I'm flying over Auckland on the back of a swan made primarily of cocoa. His name is Clem." "My pilot's license? It's out back in the Cessna. Or perhaps you're referring to my license to kill. Revoked - problems at the Kazakhstan border. I'd give you the details, but then I'd have to kill you... which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked." "Rally the horses, Jules. We're about to crack your case like an egg. And then we can make umlauts with shallots.... and justice." "Can you check for a John Doe, please? Actually, can you check all the does? Tae-quon, cookie, play, dosee..." "Shawn, this misplaced malevolence you have with the spelling bee is getting monotonous. Stop hating on the bee." "Shawn: Well, at least that gives us the "how". Now we just gotta figure out the "why", which reminds me, Gus, will you please get us those tickets for The Who? Gus: Where?" "You're killing my Jujubees!" "I'm sensing some bad jujumagumbo in here!" "Yes but what isn’t clear is why people always say “goes with out saying” yet still feel compelled to say the thing that was suppose to go with out saying." "The Cheetah is the worst name for a pickup line in the history of mankind. Remember, you treat a woman like a person, then a princess, then a greek goddess, and then a person again. Besides, I think Operation Colonel Sugarlemons is a much better move for a place like this." "That's like a genocide of color... somewhere a rainbow is weeping." "Shawn: Wanna split a pineapple? Alice Bundy: I'm sorry, do I know you?
Shawn: My name is Ichibod Fletchman. Sticky Icky to my boys. But that's neither here nor there. What's important is that this baby is 82% Hawaiian and I've got all afternoon. Alice Bundy: Are you a crazy person? Shawn: It's funny I was about to ask you the same thing. Only I was going to add "who likes to make toast" to the end of mine." "Gus: You named your fake detective agency "Psych?" Why didn't you just call it "Hey, we're fooling you and the police department; hope we don't make a mistake and somebody dies because of it."
Shawn: First of all, Gus, that name is entirely too long; it would never fit on the window. And secondly, the best way you convince people you're not lying to them is to tell them you are!" "We love you like a brother, well step-brother. Ok maybe like the weird kid that lives down the street and only eats mayonnaise on saltines."
Now. What are your quotable quotes?
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