Military chic or Private Benjamin?

I bought this jacket at the Gap the day after Christmas for $17.

I've been wearing it pretty nonstop, since most of my coats and jackets are now too big for me. (Which, yay.) The other day I was wearing it at work because I was freezing at my desk. When I went to the bathroom, I got a good look at myself in the mirror. And my first thought was: Good grief, I look like Private Benjamin.

There is a fine line between military-inspired and army surplus. I believe this jacket may straddle that line more than I originally thought. But let's be honest: I bought it because it was $17 and I love a bargain. I'll probably keep wearing it regardless.

Observations, asides, and odds and ends, all without segues.

• My walking soundtrack for today was Bon Jovi's Greatest Hits. Gives new meaning to the word "great," and if you disagree, I will fight you. Bon Jovi has a soft place in my heart--I'm talking about the days of Jon Bon Jovi's lion's mane, not the era of JBJ with a Meg Ryan-'do (c. 2000-present). New Jersery was my first "cool" tape; I got it in fifth grade, and the only other tapes I had at the time were Whitney Houston and Madonna. My cousin and I used to have contests to see who could spell JBJ's name out loud the fastest. J-O-N-B-O-N-J-O-V-I. Try it; it's fun.
• I cannot get enough citrus right now--mandarin oranges, tangerines, minneolas (cross between grapefruit and tangerine). I've long stayed away from citrus because of the stringiness factor; in fact, when I get rich, instead of hiring a grape-pealer, I'm going to have an orange de-stringer. But since taste > stringiness, I'm eating them with abandon right now. However, my old foe has returned. Anytime I eat anything citrus-related (I believe some of you will remember the bus ride to the canoe trip and a roll of SweetTarts), I clam up. My face and my palms get clammy. But as I thought then and still do now: worth it.
• My office is full of the biggest bunch of socially maladjusted people I've ever met. I have never been in a public situation--I'm talking airports, malls, neighborhood streets--where people seem to go out of their way to ignore you when you walk by. This is a society, people: we don't have to be friends (we all just breathed a sigh of relief), but we do have to be civil. No need for small talk or pleasantries. Just smile. (You think I'm exaggerating; little do you know that editors are barely one rung up the social latter from video-gamers. Seriously.)
• I love Eve Ensler (author of "The Vagina Monologues"), and if I ever have a daughter, this is what I want for her: "The verb that's been enforced on girls is 'to please.' Girls are trained to please...I want us all to change the verb. I want the verb to be educate, or activate, or engage, or confront, or defy, or create." In the meantime, I want it for all of you daughters.

The girl who cried wolf.

Have you seen the commercial (probably not, in this modern TiVo world of ours) where the woman, who needs glasses but isn't wearing any, calls for her cat in the backyard? She leaves the glass door open, and in lops a raccoon. But she can't see, get it? So she thinks the raccoon is her cat, and she invites it in and offers it some milk.

I may be about 2 nights away from this very thing happening to me.

There's a raccoon roaming the parking lot of our complex. Since seeing it 3 or 4 nights ago, I have been forced to wonder if it could fit through the cat door. Our cat door is really a repurposed dog door, fairly large for a cat. Plenty of room for a raccoon to shimmy through, is what I'm saying. What's to stop it, really? It's already busted the siding off the unit at the end of the building so that it can spend the night in the attic; how much easier is a ground-level cat door?

So, the other night the cat jumped up on our bed. (Aside: I have a long history of sleepwalking, sleeptalking, and sleep-reacting. This information pretty much explains the rest of the story.) When I reached out to pet him, he felt big. Way too big to be our cat. I panicked--a strange cat is in the house! It got in through the cat door! I knew this would happen! I grabbed the supposedly interloping cat by the scruff and reached over for the lamp. Of course, the cat was ours, and he was pissed. Stupid, I told myself. Of course it's our cat. It's never not going to be our cat.

And that is how I will wake up spooning a raccoon one day.

I want to go to there.

A little pricey for bookends (in my opinion, mostly because I use other books at bookends, if I need bookends at all, which I probably don't), but I heart them. So much. Of course, I would want to paint those birds ivory.

(from barnesandnoble.com)

Children with Adult Sensibilities

My 8-year-old niece and my dad, posing like an old-timey wedding photograph. Entirely her idea.

This is one of my favorite photos of these two.

Succulent.

Typically, the first thing I think of when I hear the word "succulent" is a roasting pig. Not anymore.

Look at these little lovelies in spice jars from Anthropologie. They are currently some of my favorite things.

One of my new year's resolutions was to become more horticulturally advanced. So far, I am failing horribly with the herbs I got for Christmas from my mother-in-law; I managed to kill the rosemary, which is actually a feat considering it grows like a weed in Austin. My chives are holding on, but just barely. I guess the secret ingredient of cat slobber was not the fertilizer I had hoped for. (I cut off the pieces he chewed on. I am not that kind of pet owner. Mostly.)

Up to Speed

It's been two years since my last blog, and a lot has happened between then and now.

First, this:

 (Look at my secret Hook 'Em Horns sign.)

 Then this:

(Engaged! And I have short bangs!)

Followed by this:

 (Wedding on April 5, 2009)

Then we did this, here:

(Freezing out booties off in Monterey.)

And let's not forget this:

(He's very disappointed by how much you've been texting this month.)

So, you know: dating, marriage, travel, LOLCatting. The usual.

Lots going on, little to show for it.

So I heard "Life Goes On" (or whatever name a real Beatles fan* would call it, if that's not the actual name of the song**) on the radio today, on the way to Central Market to partake in the Winter Citrus Festival, and I thought to myself, that's what I should call my blog.



*I should mention my street cred: I grew up listening to the "Breakfast with the Beatles" radio show in the way to church every Sunday.

*I'm being informed that the actual title is "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da."Which explains why this blog name was still available, since I totally went phonetically. Ob-la-well.