the matchbook girl...

As a lover (hoarder) of magazines, it's no surprise that I'm falling hard for online magazines. This week I've been spoiled: last night I discovered the gorgeous The Violet and today Matchbook's June issue went live.

I've always been a sucker for surveys. I recall sitting at my parents' computer, age 13, trying to figure out how to answer each item in a chain survey in such a way that would win my crush's affection - in my case the answer was probably don't fill out chain surveys. Each month, Matchbook has someone interesting fill out their fun questionnaire, so in honor of today's release I'm going to take my turn at the questions. Because sometimes I like to think I'm interesting, too. (And because I'm already married so I don't have to worry about winning the affection of any boys.)

Thanks to Jaclyn Day for the questionnaire template, found here.

point, starbucks

The other day it was approximately 1 million degrees outside. We were at Starbucks and Y, a tried and true "regular coffee" kind of guy, saw an advertisement and decided it was just hot enough for a Frappucino.

If you don't get this reference, I don't think we can be friends.

"After all," he said, reading the sign, "a grande is only 140 calories."

The next time we visited Starbucks, he ordered another Frappucino in his standard tall size. He picked it up and frowned. "I feel like my last one was bigger than this one."

Poor, naive Y spent his entire college career preparing for med school while I (an advertising major) a)studied much less and b) gained useful skills that would come in handy in the real world. So I explained why Y's drink appeared to have shrunk.

On our last Starbucks run, he looked at the sign {strategically} placed next to the register which {strategically} only mentioned how many calories were in a grande. Before he could even think about it, he turned to the cashier and asked for what was on his mind: a grande Frappucino. He didn't even realize the words coming out of his mouth. Point, Starbucks.

When I explained this to him, his jaw dropped, like so:

And he exclaimed, "Holy crap, I just got advertised!"

I'll miss you...

This weekend was med school graduation, which means a few things: first of all, it means that several people that I've known for way too long to take seriously are now doctors (i.e. Scary Spice in the 7th grade talent show). It also means that we have almost exactly one year left here.

This countdown elicits something different in everyone who moves around for a spouse's job. Of course for many of us it means HOLYCRAPMYHUSBANDWILLBEADOCTOR (breath) ANDTHAT'SSLIGHTLYWEIRDSLASHKINDOFCOOL. For some med school families it doesn't mean much other than that. They're happy where they are and the med student will confidently apply to the program at their current school and with only slight anxiety, assume that's where they'll stay. For some people it's awful, they'll have to leave a place they've come to love.

Us? Well, we're ecstatic. We hope to end up someplace completely different - a place with snow, mountains, and/or tall buildings... a place where people walk from point A to point B without getting funny looks. Maybe a place where we won't have to explain what "Jewish" is.

As hard as it may be to believe, I don't hate it here. No, it isn't my favorite place in the whole world, but I was never expecting to live in my favorite place in the whole world - a patisserie in Paris, the coast of Ireland, the Met, or Epcot.

all we really need, right?

In an effort to prove this to you (and maybe myself) and to document our last year here, this week I'm going to start featuring a year's worth of things I'll miss. Some will be important, others will be the little things, some will probably be sarcastic. But they will all be here. And for now, they're all home.

{1, 2, 3, 4}

if the beatles wore gaucho pants

{image from Visit Abbey Road's hall of fame}

I can't believe I'm just now coming across the Abbey Road webcam. Standing on this corner 6 years ago, I shook my head and thought to myself that this had to be one of the most ridiculous spots on Earth. This was, of course, right before whoever was holding the camera [facing the wrong way] yelled "Go!" and I walked across the crosswalk [by myself].

{if I hadn't told you this was 6 years ago, could you have guessed the year by my awesome gaucho pants?}

If you watch the webcam during London daytime, you won't have to wait more than a minute or so before you see a group of people trying to recreate the famous picture. The tourists are constant. The traffic is constant. It's really very funny, and standing back and realizing I was right in the middle of such a uniquely odd place is one of my favorite traveling memories.

What's the strangest place you've visited? Have you ever crossed Abbey Road?

a confession

We boarded Ike this weekend while we attended a friend's wedding. .00001% of me was worried he'd be raptured without us, all by himself in a 3x6 foot run, with nothing but his bone, a t-shirt that smelled like me, and his bed. Doesn't his expression above just scream, "I'm being raptured all by myself?"

scholarly ike earns his glasses

Y and I should get a prize for dog training. No, we haven't figured out how to make Ike stop jumping on guests... or growling at other dogs... or whining for food.

But we did teach him a new phrase.

Ike now knows the ever important phrase "last one", used most frequently when playing fetch. Here's how I know he understands it:

Generally, when I throw Ike the ball he -- like most other dogs who play fetch -- runs back as fast as he can so I can throw it again. I wish I knew what was going through his little head.

"Hey guys, you lost your ball! I know you need it, so I brought it back! Try not to lose it aga-- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! BRB."

But when I look at him sternly and say "last one" before I throw the ball, he doesn't come back after he fetches it. He just stands there and basically pouts.

"No more? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?"

junk mail

They tell you that med students will change their desired specialty many, many times. What they don't tell you is that each flirtation with a specialty brings a new realm of junk mail.

And those specialties don't care when the med student moves on to a new one. Y has gone through 3 specialties, and that's about a week's worth of medical paraphernalia. The worst offender?

EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. there's a new piece of mail with a brain on it. If there are any med students out there... think long and hard before you decide to proclaim interest in neurology. Do it for the trees.