Olid Office-Mate? Ask Five.

Q: Dear Five,
A new graduate student recently moved in to one of the desks in our office.  Our international friend brought with him a very pronounced perfume of body odor.  Our shared office of about 15 people has no windows (and no escape!) allowing the delightful fragrance to stew in the room until it has a knockout stench more effective than a tent full of sweaty soldiers in basic training.  Every culture has a different way of doing things and diversity makes the world exciting, but I think we got the whole regular showering and use of deodorant thing right.  We have thought about spraying him with air freshener consistently throughout the day, but decided that might not be the best course of action.  I would like to avoid donning a gas mask every time I step into the chamber...what do we do about the stinky kid?!

One (Hopeful Failure): I've tried to address a startlingly similar issue with literally no success whatsoever. This leads me to believe you have only one fail-safe option: Quit. Sorry, but that's the way it is. 

That said, if you want to explore less drastic approaches, you could write up a list of "Lab Rules and Protocol" on some official-looking paper. Include other over-reaching, personal but quasi-believable stuff like where people need to store their coats and bags, a definition of an appropriate haircut, and what type of footwear is appropriate in the lab. Make it long enough that it doesn't seem like the shower/deoderant clause is weird, but short enough that it gets noticed, and end it with something vaguely threatening like "failure to comply will result in disciplinary action." Post it on the bullentin board and enlist your fellow sufferers to a) very noticeably alter behavior to comply with at least one of the weird demands, and b) complain often and bitterly about how inappropriate it is that "they" are trying to control your lives. If your smelly colleague doesn't fall in line and suds up, start having hushed conversations about what happened to a "friend" in another lab who was caught unshowered and wearing flip-flops by The Man. Make it graphic.

P.S. Just a warning -- you may want to include a "no perfume or cologne" clause in your list of rules -- I'd hate to see you trade one horriffic, overpowering odor for another!

Two (Smells like Sunshine): I would invest in a number of sample size deodorants.  One day, come in and tell your colleagues a friend of yours is doing a survey about the effectiveness of the product (If you want to use this, as of now, I am testing the effectiveness of whatever deodorant you want to use for your experiment) and you brought some samples so they could all test it.  No hurt feeling and since as of now I am conducting this experiment, it's not a lie.  Good luck!

Three (try, try again!): Hello lovely reader. I'm not sure if you know this but as five sisters with five brothers, we fall into the unlikely category of highly experienced in dealing with this issue, yet our success in acheiving results is rather abismal. (Exhibit A, any of our brothers from ages 11-15).  So I'm going to go with a list of things I have never tried before, just so you're starting with fresh meat.


  • Candles--heavily scented, of course. Kill two birds with one stone, by taking care of your odiferous buddy, and turing the office into a romantic cave for entertaining the ladies.
  • Go on a febreze rampage a few times a day. Yeah you'll seem crazy, but everyone will be grateful.
  • Take him to play basketball, then encourage him to shower, and while you're in there give him instructions in proper hygiene. After you've bonded over ideal scrubbing techniques casually toss him the extra stick of new extra strength deodorant you've stowed in your bag and say "My girlfriend loves how that smells, it drives the ladies crazy!" (WARNING: This could be interpreted as sexual harassment. Just sayin...)
  • Also, just. keep. watching. these.

Four (Empathetic): Well, I don't think you can say anything. But do you, perchance, have an advisor who could help with this conundrum? Do you think you could get said advisor to mandate that all grad students shower and wear a particular clinical-strength deodorant before entering the office (for scientific reasons, of course). If it's too challenging to get your advisor involved, you could say you're doing an experiment for a certain deodorant company looking to expand its reach to include men. Buy a big pack of clinical strength deodorant, give everyone in your office some jingle bells and whenever anyone moves, force them to put on a new coat of deodorant. By including everyone, you diffuse the blame. MMmmm...Yeah. I that should work.

Five (Occasionally Smells Alright): I've found that discretion is the key in these types of situations. The following are all excellent ways to communicate what you're feeling to the fragrant fellow, without actually saying anything:
  • Make really, really unhappy faces whenever you're around him (like this)
  • Hook some of those dangly car air-fresheners from his ears or glasses
  • Speak loudly of how you shun people when they smell terrible
  • Shun him
  • Hold your breath for as long as you can, and then run to the nearest window or outside door before inhaling again
  • Burn incense at his desk
  • Make a Wall of Shame with only his picture on it
  • Tell him he stinks*
  • Give him this stuff for his birthday
. . . I have more. If you need them, I'll post them in the comments.

*This suggestion does involve actually saying what you feel



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Spring Fever

Today I had the urge to do something I've never considered before.
After seeing this magical picture, I decided something...
I really, really need to dye my hair
RAINBOW
But I don't mean dark, dull, dirty, emo rainbow -
I mean whimsical, sunshine, fairytale, cotton candy rainbow.
Just look at it! 
It's *so* beautiful. 
It makes my heart ache. 
I kind of think I need to do it
Now.
If not now, when? 
I doubt I'll have the guts to go through with it, but....
Don't you think it would be  
AMAZING
?

Much ado about matching...

When Dr. P and I started dating things were simple. He was here, I was near, and things just kept on going. But looming in the distance we were well aware of that monster known as "the match." The match is the magical process by which medical students are paired with the residency programs where they are destined to spend the next three to six years of their lives training for the specialty of their choice.

For years it was simply a daydream, like naming future children that you may or may-not have. One day I'd say, "When we have a daughter, let's name her tumbleweed," and the next would be "If you become a plastic surgeon do I get free botox?" Then one year turned to three, and all of a sudden residency wasn't so much a fairytale as a fact. 

In September the invitations for interviews started rolling in. Instead of the amorphous dream we had manipulated for the past years, a solid map of possibilities formed. Many of the cities that had incubated our love were first on the list; DC, Baltimore, Boston. Then came more foreign stomping grounds in New York, Chicago and Jacksonville. A few tugged at my heart strings, namely Denver and Cleveland. And Burlington Vt. was simply dreamy. 

Dr. P--and sometimes I--worked down the list, visiting, surveying, judging (not to mention being judged), and finally in January we sat down together and made a list, 1-15 of where we saw ourselves living, learning, loving and growing. Knowing that each residency program was doing the same with each of the 100 or so students they had interviewed. Every city and program had wonderful aspects, but the task was terrifying, because once the list was submitted, we were locked in. 

But submit the list we did. And then, we waited. For six long weeks, filled with nightmares, anxiety attacks, and plain old emotional messiness. Until finally we filed into a room filled with all of Dr. P's classmates to open the letters that held their destinies. 

Dr. P--darling man that he is--let me do the honors, and I have to admit I had never felt the same sense of nervous anticipation in my life. But as he held me, and I held our future in my hands, I knew that wherever we went, be it Baltimore or Boston, Denver or DC, we would be okay because we'd have each other. 

And when I saw our number one choice on the paper within, the shouts, and cries, and squeals, and sighs faded, and all I saw was Dr. P, and all I felt was joy.






totally unrelated, but swoon!

This is a story about the blog post that wasn't

As some of you may or may not know, today was Momo's birthday.  I wanted to write a post fitting of her majesty.  So I started a post, ripe with profundity.  But it seemed a little over ripe, so I started another.  This one was sweet.  But somehow, it seemed more trite than anything else.  Then came song number one, which was sappy.  Then song number two, which was also sappy.  Then song number three which sounded like a reject from Sesame Street.  So here I sit at 11 something pm, with my husband asking me to come to bed and still without anything of tremendous value to say.  But what I realize is that there is no song, no post, no poem and no picture that can encapsulate the appreciation, love and wonder I feel about what my mother does, how I feel about her and who she is.  Or maybe it's just writer's block.  But whatever it is, happiest of Birthdays Momo.  We love you.

Two and the Gang


Bubble Bath


Sometimes, I'm scared by how much I love these rascals.

Super-Insane-Fun-Graph-Time!!!

In the past few says, I've been helping Brother L with the graphics in his soon to be completed(!) dissertation. All of the bars, lines, charts, and  pies reminded me of one of my favorite funny people, Demetri Martin:

I have a little-itty crush on him

who is a wizard at producing fascinating data:


I thought you might find some of his graphs interesting.

Happy Anniversary, Momo!

Yesterday we celebrated what would have been Momo and Dad's 34th wedding anniversary. In honor of the occasion, we had a lovely little brunch. 
I made this crepe cake--and it turned out stupendously (if I do say so myself :).
Five's glorious fruit platter
Princess H picking her tea...
In the afternoon, we took a trip to the park with all five(!) of Momo's grandchildren.
I like him
I guess she's pretty cute, too.
Clearly some were a little more excited than others....

Happy Anniversary, Momo! 
We adore you!

Oh, by the way, have you seen this yet? I feel like a bad person for loving it so much....

Things to do in the hospital








The hospital can be a pretty challenging place.  So on my relatively frequent visits, I've decided to take along my paints and canvases.  I choose a color palette and paint!  Whether you knit, sew, draw, write, make jewelry, engaging in a creative process when your sick is remarkably theraputic.  In my case, when I would paint, my blood pressure dropped. My oxygen saturation improved.  My heart rate went down.  So go make something!  It's good for the body, the soul and your walls <3

On marathons, champagne problems and keeping it real.

Saturday morning, we woke up bright and early to a clatter of excitement outside. A quick peek reminded me that it was Race Day. Just across the street, 24,000 people from around the area and across the country were bouncing up and down with anticipation for the 26.2 mile adventure about to start, right there on our corner. As the appointed moment approached, I grabbed Princess H and scrambled down to the street to cheer them out of the gate. The horn sounded and the first group took off -- elite runners, who were very serious and very fast. I was unprepared for the excitement that comes with that much humanity filled with that much energy running that fast rightinfrontofmyface. It was fantastic. As we stayed and watched the later groups start, the thrill didn't fade. In fact, it was almost more inspiring to see the grannies and packs of chubby girlfriends dressed in green glitter mini skirts and determined grins setting out on the grueling course. They were a little slower, and a lot a less alien.

After the last of the runners was trotting down C Street, the firemen started taking down the enormous American Flag, and we turned around to head back inside the house. Sigh.

The view from the kids' window

Now that my adored little sis is back from the brink, alive and getting stronger every day, it feels a little less blasphemous to complain about reflect on more temporal problems. I really only have one worth mentioning. But it's been driving me crazy lately for the last year-and-a-half. And if you were with me Saturday morning, heading back into that house, I guarantee you'd be sympathetic. The unfinished floors, plastic-wrapped furniture, random construction debris and endless fog of dust are just the first set of nasty reminders of all the broken promises, wasted money and maddening delays wrapped up in those four crazy walls. Mr. One and I don't think of ourselves as the type to be repeatedly swindled and suckered, but there's no denying we've mismanaged this particular (very large) project, and let ourselves be taken advantage of over and over and over again. Maybe it's inevitable that this happens when a homeschooler marries someone born and raised in Utah, but there's no question this blasted house has been -- more than the Ivy League or Manhattan or corporate America -- a sad education in things I wish I never needed to learn.

After making the beds, moving a couple boxes and attempting yet another futile pass with the Swiffer, I went downststairs to tackle something in the kitchen. As I stood at the sink, looking out the window at the lovely mid-morning light, I had to do a double-take. A man was bounding past my side yard toward the finish line a couple blocks away with all the grace and speed of a young gazelle. After running 26 miles in about two hours and twenty minutes, this dude did not even look winded. I stopped to admire a few more early finishers as I buckled the kids into the car to head out to Home Depot (again). Have I mentioned how much I can't stand that place?

We returned a bunch of stuff we didn't need and aquired even more, arriving home via an illegal turn the wrong way down a oneway, thanks to the race-induced maze of still-closed streets. I pulled through our alley and into the drive in time to see a slow trickle of caboose marathoners, huffing and puffing through the last couple blocks: green facepaint smeared with sweat across a bright red face; a woman speeding up to just barely a trot when she heard the cheers of well-wishers on the corner; a couple walking hand-in-hand, she looking fresh and fit, he limping badly and leaning just a bit on her shoulder. My heart welled with admiration for each of them, finishing this hard thing they had decided to do in a moment of enthusiasm, when it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea.

Like those bedragled runners, I realized, I brought this epic, house-sized headache upon myself. I chose to run this crazy race. At the time, I really did picture myself triumphantly sprinting across the finish line, under budget and ahead of schedule. But, for a host of reasons, (some of which we ought to have anticipated, some of which nobody could have imagined), it just hasn't turned out like I envisioned.

One of the chipper runners I saw setting out that morning had a t-shirt that read "finishing is winning."  As my wonderful, saintly family and a few ninja contractors help me dig out from the chaos that separates our clan from a sane and functional living space, I'm adopting that as my mantra. How incredibly lucky I am that these are my problems! How blessed to feel, at last, that the end is just around the corner. So what if the pick-up truck with flashing lights and huge sign that reads LAST RACER is hot on my heels? We're finally approaching the finish line, and, bruised and exhausted though we may be, we are going to cross it. And that is going to feel great.

Winner!

And the winner to last week's Scarlet Samples giveaway is. . .

Vancouvergal! Congratulations!!! You won!!! You get to meet Il Divo in style!!! Whooooo!
I found this song for you:

We Are the Champions by Queen on Grooveshark

(except, replace every 'we' with an 'I' (and make any accompanying grammatical tweaks))

Send us an email at fivetdsisters@gmail.com, and we'll send you the deets on how to redeem your $30 credit at Scarlet Samples!

Bleeding Ears? Ask 5.

Q(s): I like to consider myself an easy going person (I may not be, but I like to consider myself one). However, I've come to believe that the treble bleed from low quality headphones at high volumes matches the natural harmonics of my adrenal glands. Not unlike other victims of acoustic resonance, when exposed to the relevant sounds I find myself being driven towards catastrophic collapse. Even amidst the din and tussle of the DC metro, the mind-numbing, joy-sapping, eye-scratching pings emanating from my fellow riders' heads somehow overwhelm all other sounds and once I've picked up on it, no matter what I do, I can't drown it out. I can only imagine the irreparable harm these miscreants cause to their own cochleae, but I'm candidly far more concerned about the emotional and psychological harm they're causing me. Typically I either bear my (minor) agony in silence or I politely ask people to turn down their volume. More often than not, when I pursue the latter course I'm met with disdainful glares and explanations that they're wearing headphones.  I'd appreciate your collective wisdom on the subject. Or, to put it differently, is it OK for me to break strangers' iPods and run away?


A(s):
One (Pragmatist): Just yesterday, at Safeway, I pointed out to the shoppers in front of me that they were standing in a 15-items-or-less express lane with a cart that looked destined to feed Thanksgiving dinner to an entire team of linebackers. I usually like to avoid conflict with strangers. But I had to pee, and when you get between an 8-and-a-half month pregnant lady and her bathroom break, interesting things happen. I share this story to prove that I'm not total pushover when it comes to thoughtless strangers. That said, I think your problem has a very easy, conflict-free solution: get your own headphones. Listen to music you like, or an engrossing podcast (This American Life and New Yorker Fiction are some of my personal favorites). You'll arrive at your destination enlightened and upbeat. Just make sure you don't turn the volume up too loud. That would be rude...

Two (Professional Noise Maker): Two recommendations.  1. Get your own ear phones and listen to podcasts of something you enjoy or 2. Smile, tap the person on the shoulder and say "I know this seems annoying, but would you mind turning down the volume?"  They may say no, but if you're nice enough (and if they are too) you just might save their hearing.

Three (Hooligan): I'm going to start with a tid-bit from the news. Last summer in DC there was a string of iPhone thefts on the metro. No one ever got caught. I share this story because I feel it ought to offer you a little perspective. Why break their electronics, when you could just as easily turn this noisy situation into a business opportunity!

So what I propose is that you just jump on that band wagon and steal the darn things. It'll take some thought, and timing--not to mention a general disregard for the law--and it won't solve your issue in the short-term, BUT if you're playing the long game this is DEFINITELY the way 2 go. Here's the plan. As you near your stop, cozy up to the offending party, but DO NOT let them get a good look at your face. As the doors open, swipe their player of choice and RUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!!! Then, sell the goods on ebay, and use the money to buy yourself noise-cancelingblablabla...

In closing, I should rule the world. 

Four (Resident Bard): I believe in the power of bribery. Let me explain: buy some candy--maybe two types (chocolate and fruity). Bring it with you every morning. Whenever you encounter anyone whose choice of headphones offends you, offer them a choice. You sound like the type of person who might become paralyzed by fear in the heat of the moment, so just stick with this script: 

"Hey little fellow, 
I don't mean to bellow, 
but that sound's a gettin' on my nerves. 
I'll give you two choices, 
let's lower our voices,
and see if we can't find--ok, I'm just gonna cut to the chase. Turn your music down, buddy. Also, here's some candy--fruity or chocolate?" 

I'm pretty sure that should work.

Five (Bleeds, Much Like Earphones): In my opinion, there are two optimal ways to conquer this aural irritant:
Solution: Pack a pair of baby scissors in your back pocket before you leave for work each morning. As you enter the subway car, acquire your target: Grievous Noise Polluter. Sidle on up next to Grievous Noise Polluter, and -- as he or she is obliviously nodding away to their obtrusive tunes -- unsheathe your weapon and snip! Earbuds no more! Melt back into the commuter crowd and bask in the sense of fulfillment that follows single-handedly liberating an entire train from the t/ear/anny (PUN!) of one poorly regulated iPod. Like Batman.*
Other Solution: Noise cancelling headphones.
* Some may worry about fallout from cutting a stranger's earbuds and rendering them unusable; in my experience, it's the skinny, sensitive types who blast their gravelly voiced crooners into public noise space, so I wouldn't fret too much about violent reprisals.


Have a question? ASK FIVEYou'll have a 1 in 5 chance that 
someone will see it your way!
Just send your questions to:

Homesick


Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide world o'er,

I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent rooms once more;


Come back to me, little voices gay with laughter and with song,


Come back, little hearts beating high with hopes, I have missed and mourned you long.



Pie Sisters


Wednesday was Pi Day, so--per Three's brilliant suggestion--we decided to try out the pie joint near her house. It was adorable, delicious--and started by two REAL LIVE sisters! 
Ahhh, I love sisters.
Our in-depth analysis of the individual pies follows:

Cherry Pie = Too Sweet
Banana Cream Pie Puff = Yummy (but not mind-blowing)
Key Lime Pie = Mind-blowing.

 
Someone clearly needed more pie
YUM

By the way, there's still time to enter our mad-awesome GIVEAWAY!

DO IT!

Texas tid-bits


Do you think Dr. P would let me keep him?

My time in Houston included a lot of work, but don't get me wrong, it was an amazing whirlwind of a week with a fair share of fun and learning packed in there too!

Here are pictures of some of the highlights:
One of my favorite conference sessions all week. Bossman with the Governors from two of the major states in my life. Gov. Kasich, representing Ohio--and therefore the Cleveland Clinic, and Gov. Hickenlooper from our home state of Colorado!
I found this fascinating. Only in Texas?
Catching our friends the uber-talented Y-brothers play a set with the unbeatable company of Miss Y and Astro Boy.
Buying my first pair of cowboy boots, and talking about Dad the whole time we were at it. 
Hooooooooooome, hoooome on the raaaaaange!

Not pictured:
-Hearing Jeff Immelt, CEO of GE and Obama Jobs Czar speak about the future of American industry in a globalized world. 
-Getting dinner with one of our Dad's old college buddies, and hearing stories about the good old days.
-The best oysters I've ever had. 
-And several emails from the Bossman calling me a "life-saver."