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Walk it out

You know what I like? Going on walks, because it's kind of exercise, but it doesn't feel like it (which is probably why it's not really exercise).

You know what takes a walk from "like" to "love"? My sisters!


You know what makes walks with my sisters even better? Some kick-a tunes like this one.


You know what makes walks with sisters and music the BEST? When it degrades into a street-side dance party.




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Love Patches

Right after I got home from the hospital, my dear friend MamaQ gave me a call.

"Nancy and I have been working on something for you and I'm wondering when I can drop it off."

Considering I looked like I had been hospitalized for anorexia instead of a transplant, I was guessing it was something edible.  And considering how unpleasant it is for me to eat, I was touched, but unexcited.  That is, until I went to church.

MamaQ said since I'm supposed to avoid germs that accompany literal hugs, she and my friends patched together this giant hug instead.

Don't you love it!?

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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



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

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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
?

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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!

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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


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