Well, Hello Blue Eyes

“People felt themselves watching [her] even before they knew that there was anything different about [her]. [Her] eyes made a person think that [s]he heard things that no one else had ever heard, that [s]he knew things no one had ever guessed before. [S]he did not seem quite human.” 
― Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

My mom had a lot of babies. I was number four. But by five, she was still at a loss. Not a single one of her offspring had blue eyes. When Liberty was born, we looked a lot alike. This continued as she matured into full-fledged babyhood. The only way you could tell our baby pictures apart is that hers are cuter. She had this coquettish smile, significantly more beautiful ringlets and to my mother's delight, big, beautiful, blue eyes.

As Liberty has grown up, she's maintained her slightly different and magical perspective, seeing through the pretense of most things and creating a space which is both welcoming and very much her own.

On her birthday, we wish her joy, wonder, success, love, BABIES (not announcing anything, just trying to inappropriately prod, as Liberty will confirm, I always do) and a universe that continues to reveal magic to your gorgeous, blue eyes. 

We love you Libby!!

QQQQQuestion?

Are you able to tell when you have enough?

Kimber: Nope. If anyone has tips for developing this particular power of discernment, please do share.

Charity: Not to go all Confuciun on this answer, but the more I have, the more I think I need. The less I have, the more I realize I can live without.

Liberty: I'd like to say yes, but after a recent joyous conversation (partially motivated by 3 glasses of champagne), that concluded in a fit of public tears...the most accurate answer is probably closer to no.

Mercina: Probably not. This question makes me think of a diet Glorianna and I went on a few years ago. We attempted to eat only fruit. But after a few days we were feeling pretty woozy and indulged in some cookies. By indulged I mean we ate until we got sick. And we both felt awful for the rest of the day. Yeah, no.

Glorianna: Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean I stop.

QQQQQuestion?

Kimber: Willa joining me in the laundry room, WAY past her bedtime, and insisting on brushing my hair. When the midnight makeover was complete, she grabbed my cheeks between her tiny hands and whispered, "Mommy I make you so beautiful and happy."

Charity: Yoni and I went to a beautiful, magical party hosted by all of these wonderful women! It was so fun.

Liberty: Checking out Premal's cute bootie as we pedaled around Denver on our tandem bike.

Mercina: Seeing a mother duck and her SIXTEEN ducklings during a walk around the lake.

Glorianna: I was going through a lot of old pictures, so it's probably a tie between finding:

and

What about you? What was the best part of your day today?

How to take young children anywhere

Mimo and I have a regular date on Fridays. Usually, we take the kids to visit a museum or paint pottery, or we drop by Union Market for smoked fish and ice cream. But last week, when I got to her house, she was sitting in her favorite chair, surrounded by a mountain of photo albums. We spent the whole afternoon pouring over pictures from her amazing life. Our grandpa, Didi, was elected to congress the year that I was born, and spent the next 28 years dragging me and the rest of his grandchildren to completely inappropriate places. For that brazen disregard of protocol and better judgement, I will be eternally grateful.

These days, my kids and I don't have occasion to crash state dinners, but I do look to my fearless grandparents as inspiration when deciding whether to get a sitter or bring the team.

If you're feelig bold, Here are my top 5 tips for bringing your kids anywhere...*

*I also feel I need to insert a disclaimer for anyone who has been to church with my kids. I don't know what it is -- maybe the hyper-familiarity of once-a-week worship with so many of their best little friends? But my tricks don't seem to work there. Once we walk through the chapel doors, it's kind of in God's hands....

Why do I judge you? Because my brand of feminism is better than yours.

We like to talk about food a lot on this blog. I hope that doesn't diminish our feminist credibility, because in the next weeks, you can expect a few posts on the topic.

Which track to take? That is the question.
Next question? How I can make the woman who took a different road feel bad about herself.
Actually, maybe that shouldn't be the question at all.

I was 18. It was midnight and my best friends were over. Katie, Ruth and I were an ambitious troupe with very clear goals. Ruth wanted to be a mother and musician. Katie wanted to be an academic. I loved opera and writing, but all I really wanted to do was go on a Mormon mission. We were eating frozen fruit as I read the central thesis of my newly written, favorite college paper ever. It was a magnum opus on a coming fourth wave of feminism that would broaden the scope of a once, narrow idea of female empowerment. The paper was good; it got an A. But the gathering foretold truths about modern womanhood that I would have never anticipated.

Today, we're riding that fourth wave of feminism I wrote about in 2002. From Hillary Clinton to Sherry Dew, Sheryl Sanberg to Sarah Palin, Susan Patton to Anne Marie Slaughter, Beyonce, Lena Dunham, Jezebel.com to FeministMormonHousewives.org, there seems to be a renewed understanding of the realities of womanhood. But it feels like the world of feminism is all Lean In vs. You Can't do It All, Ordain Women vs. I-Don't-Want-The-Priesthood, or Professional Lady vs. Parenting Warrior. In my life, the issue isn't either/or, it's achieving excellence and happiness in my path while experiencing joy in the roles of others.

I don't know of many people who stayed home with their kids while running a super successful business who became pop stars, politicians, gagillionaires, best-selling authors, astronauts, Olympians, scientists and concert pianists at the same time. Maybe I am alone in this, but if I want to be truly excellent in one thing, I need to focus. One of Paul's epistles says each of us are given different gifts. He goes onto enumerate some of the gifts: languages, healing, faith, knowledge, wisdom, discernment, the list goes on and on. I don't think this epistle was reserved for men.

Women are finally coming to terms with the vast number of acceptable and valuable occupations open to us. There are many noble professions, parenting being just one, incredibly valuable option. Happiness becomes much more difficult when we are preoccupied with expecting others to have the same skills, talents and gifts that we do. In my never-as-humble-as-it-should-be opinion, true feminism is about fulfilling our potential and encouraging others as they do the same -- regardless of their gender.

Take me and my sisters. We have as similar of a baseline as possible: same parents, same city, same gene pool and similar educations. But we're all different. Kimber is a full-time mom. I'm an artist. Liberty is a young professional. Mercina is a missionary. Glorianna is a student. I could envy Kimber's stable income, fabulous aesthetic and perfect children, Liberty's rational professionalism and effortless style, Mercina's work ethic and perfect chic, or Glorianna's Yale education, brilliance and self assurance. Sometimes, I do. But more often than not, I feel blessed by their different gifts.

Within a few years of that late night in Denver, me and my friends were living out each other's dreams. Katie was getting married. Ruth was going on a mission and I was at a top music school. It would have been easy for jealousies and envy to get in the way of friendship. Instead, something wonderful happened: I learned to experience vicarious joy in a way I never knew was possible. These days, Katie is being an amazing mother to her four kids, Ruth is a respected researcher and I am making music. We're still friends and I continue to receive a great deal of satisfaction from their successes. When we stop judging one another and focus on doing our best in the life we're living, we can experience the satisfaction that comes from doing it all without doing everything by ourselves.

What do you wish was part of the current discussion of women, womanhood and feminism?

What do you think is being overlooked? We'd love to hear your thoughts here. We might even write a post about them. Whether you're a lady or man-type, thank you for reading! We <3 you! 

Things impressed upon me from a young age, in no particular order:

Respect older people, those in positions of authority, and everyone else too.

Always say ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘hello, you’ve reached the Tillemann-Dicks' residence. How may I help you?’

Cucumbers should be planted in small mounds.

You should not consider yourself superior to anybody else.

Appearances are important.

Appearances mean very little.

Read.

You are in no way obliged to do things how other people do them.

Privacy from family is not a right – some would prefer to abolish it all together.

The American flag should never touch the ground.

You are capable of hard work, and you have very few good reasons to avoid it.

Manners are an important thing for a young person to have.

Wash the dishes when a guest in someone’s home.

Screaming won’t kill you.

Most things won’t kill you.

Emotional trauma is largely avoidable.

You are capable of figuring out when to go to bed by yourself.

Water is delicious and good for you.

The easiest way to impress anyone.

Can you poach an egg? Neither could I. That is, not until this morning. I'd heard all sorts of things, from using vinegar to sliding the egg directly into the water to straining the egg. But every time I tried, the results were downright embarrassing.

Then this morning, I decided I was going to try a hybrid. The results were nothing less than HAmazing.

No stringy mess. No gross looking, contorted, semi curdled egg. Just poached, eggy perfection. Try it out. It will blow your mind and bring fancy brunch home to you whenever you want it.

So here's what you do:

Bring water to a gentle boil with a tablespoon of white or white wine vinegar and a dash of salt.*

Take a fresh egg.

Gently crack and slide into your hands or a mesh strainer, allowing the more watery part of the white to drain into a bowl or the sink.

When you have the more viscous part of the white and yolk, place in a bowl or directly into boiling water.

Allow to cook until white is firm but yolk is still soft.

Douse in cold water.

Serve.

*for the heart conscious out there, the salt is entirely optional,

Blurred Lines

"ugh. that chick was trippin' lizards, yo". . . Nothing.

"dewd, my belly does not have any food in it right now.". . . Nope.

"soooo when are we going to go do that thing we talked about that one time?". . . *crickets*

"where you been, man?"

"Just busy with some stuff and things"

"want to grab coffee?"

"I don't know. I have a dentist appointment next Tuesday, so I don't know if we'll be able to sync up our schedules"

"come on. we haven't talked in ages. you're usually free thursdays, right? let's meetup for a canolli or something."

...

"Sure"

Boom. Fraped.

Frape (not frappé) is a new word I made up last night after realizing that I'm terrified of becoming an overbearing friend person, a.k.a. a frapist. You can probably figure out its roots if you think about it. . . yeah. You get it.

I've been thinking lately about when being friendly and proactive in relationships crosses the line from appropriately thoughtful into uncomfortably persistent, and I've determined that I have absolutely no idea. Forcing the physical act of hanging out is wrong and nobody should do it. But what exactly counts as forcing? Four texts? A phone call? More than one email? For me, three chronologically distant yet consecutive texts feels pretty frapey -- because really, how many more can you send before the other person become so uncomfortable they reply, even though they really don't want to? After two, I pretty much understand that you've been over me for, like, four months already and the resulting shame that I didn't tire of your company before you tired of mine means I hate you forever and ever and I never want to see you again.

. . . I realize that this is probably not healthy.

For obvious reasons, yes, but some others as well. My eagerness to avoid engaging in non-consensual friendship means that I tend to just not get to know people unless they get to know me first. This is unfair, illogical, and I'm sure excludes me from many enriching relationships. But it's the case. The good (?) news is that I actually quite enjoy spending time alone, so this intense social dysfunction doesn't bother me all that much. However, on those rare occasions when I do shoot off the first communique, I quickly spiral into the above mentioned doubt-spiral and shut out people who I actually think might be pretty neato. Not productive.

I don't even think frape is bad, in the abstract. If you think someone is keen, of course you should put some real effort into getting to know them better! I probably wouldn't have any friends if people hadn't done that with me. But I just can't bring myself to. . . you know.

I don't even know what the point I'm trying to get across here is.

I think it's easiest to just associate with blood relatives -- if they think you're lame they'll tell you, but you still get to be buddies anyway because that's just the rule. (ok siblings? Ok.)

Because I don't have any other good conclusion, I'll leave you with the frapists' anthem, by Blondie:

Uncostumed? Ask 5.

We got a note from the folks over at Paul Fredrick asking us for some low-stress/high-reward Halloween costume ideas. But they already had some pretty good ideas, which made us think their email was just a backhanded way of rubbing their dumb creativity in our faces. This naturally made us feel super jelly and, consequently, hyper competitive. And that's why we wrote this post. If any of you guys haven't already devoted hours of careful concept development, stringent dress rehearsing, and tender sequin application to your All Hallow's Eve getup this year, seriously reconsider your priorities. Also, enjoy these last minute ideas for some last minute Halloween costumes from your favorite procrastinators (and if you end up wearing any of them, send us pictures at fivetdsisters@gmail.com)!

Kimber: "Future Wes Anderson character." Look in closet for any and all monochromatic clothing. Add contrasting (or coordinating) head gear, simple yet intense eye makeup, and severe hair. Name your character (good options included: Nan, Flossie, Mrs. Greoter, Dimple), and tell people it's a character from Wes Anderson's new movie. Not this one. People will either a) think you're in the know, or b) think you are quite clever. 

Charity: I always have grand plans for Halloween, but they typically don't work out. My friend Sarah Ward is a master of costuming and I recommend you check out some of her ideas. But here are a few thoughts from yours truly.

A pumpkin head. Cut a pathetic hole in the bottom of a large pumpkin along with eye holes (optional). Clean out pumpkin. Place on your head. Dress in black or jeans and flannel.

A dog. Tube socks make perfect ears when attached to a headband. Put on white, grey or black sweats, attach another tube sock to your fanny for a tail. Give your nose some attention from your eyeliner and make the tip a little black triangle, put on some freckles and Voila. You're a dog.

Fall down a hill in SF, scrape up your knee and wrap it up in gauze and surgical tape. Wait. Don't to that. I did that. It's not a good costume

Liberty: (1) Dress up like a panda* (for me this means black pants and sweatshirt, the fuzzy white faux-fur vest Momo got me last year, two buns for ears and HEAVY eyeliner).
(2) Cover panda costume with a large black sack.
(3) Pin a sign to the sack reading "Due to the shutdown of the federal government the Smithsonian National Zoo's Panda Cam will be offline until further notice."
*actual panda costume optional.

Mercina: We couldn't get in touch with Mercina in time for her to contribute to this post, but we're pretty sure we know what she would have suggested.


Glorianna: A famous person running errands. Wear what you always wear, but say that you're dressed as [insert name-of-that-one-celebrity-you've-always-kind-of-thought-you-look-sort-of-like here] when they're at the the grocery store or renewing their driver's license. People won't be able to help but say "Oh! Wow! I definitely see where you're getting that from. You guys have the exact same [smile / build / eyes / eyebrows / nostrils / hat / number of fingers]." Abracadabra: you spend the night feeling Hollywood handsome (it's cool, girls can be handsome too) after putting no extra effort into your appearance. Double success.

Have a question? Ask 5. You'll have a 1 in 5 chance that 

someone will see it your way!

Just send your questions to:

fivetdsisters@gmail.com

The Book Barn

This morning I went on a delightful little birthday outing with a few delightful friends. We ventured out from the familiar (if not exactly safe) embrace of New Haven up to The Book Barn in Niantic. It was like a happy dream -- thousands of old books organized into different little stalls and carts across a block or so of property (crime novels in this shanty, classics across the way on that wagon, etc.), interspersed with benches for reading and cats for petting. Can you imagine anything better? (If you can, then maybe we can't be really good friends.)

I picked up quite a few dollar tomes I've been meaning to read but haven't had on hand, as well as some other books I hadn't known I'd been meaning to read but now realize I definitely had to have been. If you find yourself in the proximate neighborhood of the Connecticut coast, I can't recommend this little bibliophile's paradise highly enough. To fully optimize your experience, I would suggest going on a crisp yet sunny autumn afternoon while wearing a scratchy wool sweater and sipping from a thermos full of hot cider.

Moderation

Things I tend to over-indulge in:

Oh. And also:

As the term suggests, it's best not to overindulge in things. Sometimes it's easier to avoid doing so than others (for example, when your brother changes the Netflix password and doesn't tell you what it is, you don't watch a lot of Netflix; when your brother brings you an entire jar of Nutella to store in your room, you (or at least I) eat a lot of Nutella). I recently made a big gain in my fight against excessive tendencies by imposing a limit on my Facebooking with a handy dandy little Google Chrome app called StayFocusd. Now, with only 10 minutes combined to spend on my least favorite favorite social networking site and a variety of other time-gobbling websites every day, I find I have a lot more time to waste in other ways -- like listening to this or walking here or stealing one of these and painting it white and hanging all my necklaces on it. Anyway, it's past my bedtime, but I guess what I'm trying to say is this: there are a lot of cool random things to do, so don't spend all your pennies in one machine, yoooooo.

night night sleep tight,

Beauty Hurts or What To Do When Your Face Become Furry Like A Little Rodent

One of the side effects of an old medication led to my face becoming furry like a baby rodent. It was kind of awful. It was too big of a task for plucking and I was worried about my skin if my whole face was waxed. I'd heard of threading: a less painful South East Asian import. It was supposedly better for your skin and many women used it on their entire face.

Threading salons were all over New York. So one day after a meeting, I happened upon one. The price was right. It looked clean and tidy, so I decided to go. There were a few girls there getting their brows done. As the Indian girl with incredible hair and brows rolled her thread up and down her client's face, it seemed almost hypnotic. The client's eyes were closed and they both appeared to be in a zen-like state of hairlessness. I was excited.  I lay my head back, ready for this amazing, transcendent excavation of face fur. A young woman with thick, black hair began to wind a white thread, twisting it between her fingers a half dozen times. She approached my face and began to roll the miniature rope across my cheeck. I screamed. Loud. Back and forth the little threads went, ripping my baby hairs out, 10 or 12 at a time.

I've had my freaking chest cut open twice but this was certainly some of the most pain I have ever been subjected to. And I was doing it voluntarily.

I felt entirely deceived. Those girls who made it look so effortless -- dare I say -- meditative. How dare they!? It was a violation of a common bond of sisterhood. They should have warned me. They owed it to me. This must be against the law, I thought. Outlawed by some international convention or treaties having to do with cruel and unusual punishment. I think I asked if it was.

The next thirty minutes seemed like hours -- days, ever. I screamed, squirmed and yelped in pain. The other women who worked in the salon gathered around. I think they found my cries for help rather entertaining. Clients would come in and out, giggling and giving me sympathetic glances. What can I say? I've never been particularly good at keeping my feelings in.  When I was finally done, my face looked like I had had a chemical peel or something. -- I was pretty sure the top few layers of skin had been removed. But my cheeks were smooth as a naked baby's bottom.

I'm going back to New York for Rosh Hashanna and while I no longer need the full face, I might just get threaded tomorrow. If you need it, it is true: it does work very well. It is supposedly better for your skin. It hurts like the Devil. And it makes me wonder, what goshawful painful routines do men engage in to stay beautiful? On that note, have a beautiful, hairless new year this Rosh Hashana. 

Let's Talk Underwire

Pink striped wallpaper and pictures of breasts, butts and bodies that look more Barbie than human are plastered on every surface, figuratively slapping my face with reminders of the body I don't have. A woman in a tight, short black dress with breasts cascading out of her top comes into fit me. Tape in hand, she measures the widest part of my chest. I feel like I'm being sized up for a cheap escort service. I leave feeling somewhat dirty, trying to hide my pink, striped bag from view.

This has been my experience shopping at Victoria's Secret. And it's no surprise. Victoria's Secret was made by a man for men who were uncomfortable shopping for women's lingerie in department stores. Ray Raymond wanted a place men could go to get something sexy for their love interest and feel comfortable.

Les Wexler bought the store later and decided to gear it towards women. As he was nearing 70, he thought up the Pink brand, wanting girls to have more fun with their underwear. To quote The Sound of Music, when contemplating this, "why don't I feel any better." Maybe because it's totally disconcerting and kind of gross that the largest specialty store for women's underwear is masterminded by a bunch of old men.

This past weekend, I finally decided to do something about it. Kimber told me I needed to get fitted at Nordstrom. And I did. And I think it might have just changed my life. It felt so much less awkward going to the same place I buy shoes or dresses to find a good bra. The woman who fit me was friendly and not trying to look like a Victoria's Secret angel. There were mom's taking their daughters for their first bras, sisters picking out things for weddings. The woman who helped me brought me no fewer than 25 bras to try on. The result was positively ... uplifting. For the first time since I was 13, I didn't feel ashamed to buy underwear. I felt happy and pretty and I don't think I'll ever return to the pink walk of shame.  Shopping for body basics shouldn't lead to anyone feeling worse about their body. It shouldn't lead to women feeling fat. It should leave us feeling happy and supported (pun intended).

What are your most traumatic underwire stories?  

True Stories, by Me: Red socks, RED SOX and How to save a life

True Story: This spring I had the opportunity to give not one, but two separate talks at TEDMED in Washington DC. I'd decided the theme of my talk would be running with what life and death brings. And then the Boston Bombings happened. It was deeply upsetting and I wanted to do something to honor the victims and the heroes. I didn't want to be cloying. So I got this idea: Nothing was more Bostonian in my eyes than the Red Sox, so I'd wear a pair of red socks and put them on display when I was done. It was perfect. When I was done, people jumped to their feet and I displayed mine. And no one got it. The moral of this story: Don't depend on nuance. Tell people what you're thinking. They might get it without your explicit references, but otherwise, you'll end up being the crazy chick with the red socks.

Get Happy!

I don't know about you, but it always seemed like when one part of my life was difficult, something else was there to compensate. But at the moment, life is thoroughly wonderful. I am so happy. My career is going in directions I never dreamed it could. I am working on projects I find meaningful. I am totally in love. I get along with all my siblings and relatives. I love my friends. To top it all off, Yoni and I take our tandem bike to tango every week and he's getting pretty good. Part of me is afraid to breath, knowing anything could throw  this highly unusual and blissful equilibrium off balance. And the other part of me thinks that's not a bad thing. Too often, when times are good I forget how very good they are because there are always things that go wrong. Unmade beds, disagreements, unkind people, unwanted pounds, there is always something that can be better. But when there is room for gratitude, bask in it. During the scenes when challenges are bit players, savor it. 

Moving. . . Somewhere? Ask 5.

Dear Five Sisters,

My husband and I are at a crossroads and can choose between A) moving to a place with a stable job in the middle of the desert and B) moving to another continent with nothing but our love, good intentions and entrepreneurial spirit.

In your experience(s), when is the time to make the Smart Choice (and please your in-laws)  and when is the time to make the Awesome Choice on the road less traveled?

Five awesome answers after the jump!

Bundling Blossoms

Happy Spring! I am very ready for some warmer weather (New Haven is still freezing), so I'm hoping the official arrival of spring will result in warmer temperatures. Fresh flowers are such a joy - and when I was home in Colorado over spring break, I indulged my obsession of flower arranging. I picked up a delightful assortment of blossoms at the supermarket. They were lovely....And they called to me....

• Spray roses = $8
• Snap Dragons = $8
• Cool green blooms (not sure what they're called) = $4
• Red berries = $4
• Daisies = $5
• White roses & baby's breath = from my sweet boyfriend
• Baby daffodils = from our garden

          Total = $29

My rules for buying flowers -

They must strike me as being especially pretty

They must be very fresh

They should be a good deal (I usually get them from the grocery store)

The easiest way to make a lovely arrangement is to get all the same color of flower or all the same type of flower

I always try to stick to a pretty explicit color palate (e.g. pink/yellow/white/cream, red/white/blue, etc.)

The first thing I do after returning with my spoils is find vases for them. I usually try a few before I'm happy. If the arrangement is going to be involved, I stick with a simple vase. If the flowers are on the simpler size, I tend to use more exciting vases.  

Before doing any arranging, I set the flowers in the vase(s) - just to see how they look. 

Sometimes this is *almost* all I do with flowers. A lot of flowers look lovely by themselves in a vase. If I like how they look by themselves, I simply chop off the bottoms of the flowers at an angle -to the desired length, and put them in the a vase full of water.  

If I'm not wholly satisfied with a simple arrangement, I decide what shape of arrangement I want to make. Then I figure out which vase I want to fill - and choose the flowers I want in the center of my arrangement. An old art teacher told me to build my paintings out from the center; that's what I do when I arrange flowers, too. I start with the nucleus and carefully build from there - adding blossoms as I go. I try to use an odd number of each type or color of flower to keep things looking natural.

I alternate between different flowers and sizes. I try to pay attention to the shape of the arrangement, and do a lot of bundling - with rubber-bands and twine - to keep things nice and tight. 

When I have a nice bundle, I put the flowers in my vase, and add loose blossoms and leaves around the edges until the vase is comfortably full.  

I filled 7 vases!

A few of my favorite flowers - and a few more helpful tips for arranging flowers at home.

Ahhh.

I love Spring!

Capital bound on a budget? Ask 5.

Q: On Saturday, I board the Empire Builder in Seattle and, for 46 hours, get to bumble about on a train until I reach Washington D.C. on Tuesday. I have six days (and a limited budget) to saturate myself with this village. Any suggestions on what to do with a day? I don't plan on eating out (lentils, onions, and rice for dayz), but if I were to, are there any places that would be worth throwing dollars at (or nicely handing the dollars to the folks)? Favourite tree?

As:

Smelly

Perfume. I want some.

I think that I'm looking for something not too flowery or sweet, but pleasant smelling none the less. I'm not sure whether I want something deep and cozy or fresh and bright (my research has informed me that these are appropriate words with which to describe nasal phenomena), but I'm thinking something in either of those ranges. Apparently, I have no shortage of options.

For the time being, I'm carless and lazy, so my research has been relegated to the webisphere. But I want to get to the. . . perfume store(?) over Spring Break. Here are the type of scents I've found intriguing thus far.

(Note: Yes, there is a pattern of inelegant exactness in the below perfumes' titles; internet fragrance research favors the explicitly named)

These next four all fall into the category of 'Things I Rarely Ever Smell Like":

    

And these are in the "Generally Splendid Smells" category:

So what do you smell like? . . . I'm not sure if that question could be much creepier.

Taking into account the context of this post, what do you smell like? (Still creepy.)

Do you have any suggestions for scents I should try once I get my lazy bum to the perfumery?