The Art of Quitting: Goodbye Zodiac!

Evan Harris has a book called, "The Art of Quitting When Enough is Enough." I received this book as a birthday present from my good friend Alegra. A hint? What does she think I need to quit?
According to Ms. Harris, there are six basic quits:

1) Job
2) Person/People
3) Thing
4) Location
5) Idea
6) Habit

Soon after reading the book, I saw a quit glaring at me from the heavens: Astrology. Those of you who know me have not taken my musing on the zodiac very seriously, because I am very very serious and very very skeptical, and would not look at sun signs to interpret affairs of the heart or business. But I do read my horoscope and have spent hours discussing the compatibility of different signs in relationships. Furthermore, I confess to pointing out that people really ought to know their moon sign and ascendant house. I have stopped short of cancelling events based on horoscope advice and choosing my boyfriend based on his sign. Recently, three people have pointed out to me that the sun wasn't even in the constellation of Leo when I was born. This statement appears to be true, and along with Evan Harris's book, has motivated me to quit astrology. So Leos, start a torrid affair with a Cancer or Pieces. Even the most poetic, literary horoscope, while tempting, is not worth reading if one can't decide which sun sign's horoscope to read.

Creeping Critters in Daily LIfe

Two weeks ago, I was walking on the lawn outside my apartment chatting on the phone, when I saw the brightest blue squirmy thing in the grass. A worm? A snake? It was about 5cm long. Lucky for me, the small creature wiggled onto the sidewalk and under one of my planters. It was a lizard of some kind. I described it on the phone to my friend from Austin, who correctly identified the lizard as a "skink". I managed to take the above picture of it. I believe this is a blue-tailed skink. Apparently skinks lose their blue tails when they enter adulthood.

Last week, I had a close encounter of the 8th kind with an orb weaver. A stray jacket left outside the building was brought inside out of the rain and hung on a doorknob waiting for its owner to recognize it. Although the jacket was not mine, I thought I'd try it on and without realizing it, tried on the high-jacking spider for size too. I was admiring myself in the bathroom mirror, then went to, well, you know, when I saw the orb weaver sitting on my leg. I was quite startled. I brushed the spider off and carried it to safety on a paper towel.

There are many small rodents and lizards in Los Alamos, but fortunately, I have yet to see a roach. Which is just another reason that Los Alamos is indeed, utopia.