Spoiler-Free Summer Movie Reviews

Okay, sadly, there will be no "Star Wars" or "Batman Begins" or "War of the Worlds" reviews in here unless I can con some unsuspecting man into taking me on a date. Instead, we'll just review a few ankle-biter-friendly films released in the past month or dos.

Kicking and Screaming Now normally, I'm not big on the SNL-alum-driven movies (with the exception of Mike Meyers, that dude is just freakin' FUNNY, man!) but I had by chance seen "Elf" a while back and can therefore give Will Ferrell props. Doesn't mean I rush out to see his movies. But we took the short people to go see this, and let me tell you, I was seriously laughing at some parts of it. Not the least, the part where he's becoming addicted to coffee. I can SO relate. The whole movie is pretty cute though, a little predictable but generally good. Ummm... three out of four... I dunno... Raisinettes.

Madagascar Some cute jokes and sight-gags, but overall, not my favorite. Give me Robin Williams as the Genie, or Beauty and the Beast's ballroom scene, any time. Still, neither terrible nor downright offensive. Two Raisinettes.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Oh... my... god!!! Teenage coming-of-age type story, expected cuteness and mush and stuff, which was certainly present in high enough doses. But also got hit with some unsuspecting, very weighty stuff. Should I be scared that some situations struck a nerve in 31-year-old me?!?!? Not with the ever-more-present-these-days pang of "My daughters will soon be going through this" but the "I know exactly how she feels" thing instead. Yikes! Still, great movie, four Raisinettes, and it may replace the somewhat outdated "Steel Magnolias" as a movie I will rent in order to induce a good cleansing cry.

The Perfect Man Yes, those aforementioned kidlets, my older two and my niece anyway, are what they refer to as "tweens." Therefore, in addition to the Hilary Duff concert in March, I also have to take them to Hilary Duff movies. Well, it has to be said, all she ever plays is herself, no big stretch in character development, but overall it was still kinda cute. Very predictable. Several scenes and situations were the kind Ray Charles can see coming, and he's blind AND dead. But still. Wholesome movie, nice messages... two and a half Raisinettes.

Herbie Fully Loaded The love bug is back! Okay, I wasn't super-crazy about seeing a movie starring the girl I call "that little Lindsay Lohan *****" but the previews looked cute... and Matt Dillon looked cute LOL and it really turned out to be a fun movie. So much fun, in fact, that I want to go see the races one of these days. Well, what I REALLY want to do is hit a track with a car like the sweet baby Mustang I used to have, and let her fly. So anyway, good movie, lots of fun, I was even able to see past the fact that she's a little ***** who... well... anyway... Cute movie, three and a half Raisinettes.

Will let y'all know how Bewitched turns out next weekend.

Perspective

Well, I got some much-needed, if unwanted, perspective today.

Got a call around noon from my mom-in-law. She and I are quite close, despite the fact (or really, BECAUSE of the fact) that her son and I split up over 7 years ago. She's the one who takes care of the girls for me, even though Baby Butt isn't her biological grandchild. And because the kids are with her during the week, she's also the one to take them to the doctor. So today, they had basic check-ups with the new pediatrician. Barb mentioned Big Girl's snoring, which she had also mentioned to the old doctor. The old doctor's finding: we'll keep an eye on her. The new doctor's finding: She has a mass on her throat and needs to see a specialist today at 3. And if they don't have room/time to see her, get her to UTMB, fast. My heart dropped to the floor. Then Barb backpedaled a little, said it might not be that bad, I shouldn't really worry, no reason to leave work and meet them down there, if they said they needed to do a procedure she would call me.

Pins and needles.

At 3:30 I had to go into a stupid meeting at work. It didn't end until after 5:30, though I told the phone attendant to page me if Barb called, and flat out told my manager if I got a call I was taking it, meeting or no meeting. Stupid meeting lasted until 5:30. When I got out, there was a message slip on my chair. *gulp* Seems big girl is okay, they didn't have to do anything today. It looks like what it is (I forget the name) is not dangerous, but it will probably still have to be removed at some point. Still, my Big Girl is okay. And as soon as I heard that, it was all I could do, not to break down in hysterical tears of relief. Suddenly, the messes with the bills and the phones and the frustration, meant nothing.

My baby is okay.

Communication Breakdown

Just to let y'all know, multiple crises erupted at once, involving almost ALL of my means of communication. Cell phone got a good dunking and may never work, which means phone numbers are also lost. Home phone was unexpectedly shut off, which also screws up my internet access. Now I can only e mail and check blogs and forums from work, mostly on lunch hour or after I clock out... or at school if I feel like going on campus, which is a bit of a hassle. Can only make local calls from work, can receive calls at work but it's hard to tell when I'll be with customers, and can receive some calls at Barb's on the weekends. So... if you need to reach me and are having trouble, e mail me and I can give you all the relevant info for your best chance at reaching me. Otherwise... *sigh* I sure will miss everyone until I get things straightened out, and that's going to take some time.

Mike and the Chinese Food

Somehow, some way, that year we had the apartment we became default hostesses. Neither of us could ever turn away a friend who wanted to come over and hang out, or even spend the night. We often wondered what the neighbors must think of us, because most of our friends were guys and so there was a constant parade of men - lots of different men - in and out of our place at all hours, and many overnight. It was actually only rarely that any of them were "involved" with either of us, but to a casual observer... it's one of those things that make you go "hmmmmmmmm."

One frequent visitor was "Mike from North Dakota." That was how we did, and still do, refer to him. Mike had a thing for Miah, though nothing ever really "went on" as far as that was concerned. Mike also apparently had a thing for the leftovers in our refrigerator... our strawberry water... and our cable TV. Unlike most of our guests, who at least called before they showed up, Mike would just wait until he knew we should be home from work (usually after midnight) and then show up, knocking on our door. It never crossed our minds to actually not answer the door; that just wouldn't be us. Instead, we grudgingly let him in every time. He also had a bad habit of turning on "Beavis & Butthead" when he came in. We were both usually struggling to do homework and not really watching the TV per se, but we both despised that show and it grated on our nerves. But everything came to a head the night he ate the Chinese food.

As I said, he liked to raid the fridge. Normally, that would have been marginally acceptable. But this time, we had Chinese food leftovers. And let's face it - Chinese food leftovers are sacred. Everyone knows that. Except Mike, who rummaged around in the fridge, popped something into the microwave... and suddenly was sitting on the folded-out sofa bed, where I was lying on my stomach trying to do homework, with a plate full of the food of the gods. I was fuming. Miah could see it, but didn't know how bad it would get. They were closer than he and I were, so she tolerated more from him, though I could tell she was ticked about the food too. Poor guy, though... because it also happened that my bangs were just a little too long, so long that they were falling into my face, and each time I would try to brush them back, they'd fall right into my eyes again, making it impossible for me to study.

So here I am, lying on the couch trying to do homework... full day of school and full night of work both behind and ahead of me... Beavis & Butthead on the TV... and Mike, sitting there oblivious, eating our Chinese food... hair falling in my eyes... and finally, I just broke. (Those of you who know me, know that I have endless patience, right up until the second I lose it, and then all hell rather suddenly and violently breaks loose.) I jumped off the bed, shooting Mike a look with such ice I'm sure something shriveled, and stalked into the kitchen... then stalked out with a wicked-looking pair of scissors. Miah told me later that Mike apparently feared for his life, and even SHE feared for his life. Instead, a stomped past him and into the bathroom, where I proceeded to chop my bangs so short they really didn't exist anymore. I stalked back out, threw the scissors down on the kitchen counter, flopped back down on the sofa bed, and went back to my studying.

Mike quietly got up, turned off the TV, put his plate in the sink, and left the room. That was the last time Mike spent the night; in fact, it was the last time he came over at all. But what can I say? Some things MUST be respected, and Chinese food is one of them.

Reflexology

Okay, guess I can tell it carefully and not be too risque here... The basic concept of reflexology, is that all major body organs and systems have something akin to receptors in the feet. Therefore, when one is experiencing problems with an organ or system, massage/stimulation of the corresponding area of the foot, can help to relieve the problem. And when I say every major organ or system, I mean EVERY ONE, if you know what I'm saying.

So, years ago, I had a good male friend who was, for the most part, a platonic friend. One time prior to this incident, we had sort of crossed a line, and after that we were careful not to cross it again. It hurt our friendship for a while, actually, but we finally got things on track and were okay with each other again, albeit a little more careful about just how much time we spent alone together. But one night I was spending the night over there (we were drinking buddies, each looking out for the other to make sure neither got hooked, and I often spent nights at his house rather than drive home) and, well, I was kinda getting a vibe from him, but I knew that because of our history, he would never make a move. I also knew I could not make an OVERT move. I had to be very careful, very delicate in my approach.

And I also remembered a little tidbit from the reflexology book I used to have. I remembered the exact right spot on his foot to rub, that would make... ummm... certain systems override more pragmatic concerns.

It worked.

Now that is NOT the reason I want to take the classes LOL and the reason I do might make me sound like even more of a flake. Basically, if you believe at all in alternative medicine or the ability to heal... I'm not saying I am a miracle worker or anything, not by a long shot, but there's a certain degree of energy and power in these hands. I've been able to help people before, even with my woeful lack of training. The classes could build on that, and only make it better, and make me better able to serve my purpose in the world. (And incidentally, for those of you who are reading this from far, far away... the healing power of Reiki can be sent long-distance and be just as effective as if the actual laying-on-of-hands took place. It can be a source of both physical and emotional healing. And I will always, ALWAYS be willing to Reiki a friend, and I do not charge for it. All you need do is ask, and I'll ask you a few questions about what's wrong and then work on it.)

Hurricane Miah

So here is how she even became Hurricane Miah, as well as the latest hijinks. (Yes, twelve years later she and I, together and separately, still raise hell.)

The origin of "Hurricane Miah" is simple. During our freshman year, she lived in the dorms, but for sophomore year moved back home to the 'burbs with her parents. She was still on campus for classes during the week (and was always welcome to crash with any of us) but she had a tendency to kind of blow into the room - whichever room we were all hanging in at the time - shake up our lives a little with the latest craziness, and then blow on out again.

Over the years, we've shared many "wacky, madcap capers." Among other things, she was present for the birth of, not just one, but ALL THREE of my children. (There is, BTW, a story coming later about that; I promise I will keep it light for the faint of heart. A.k.a. the men.) But this latest adventure, thankfully, did not include me except as a peripheral.

One Sunday afternoon about a month ago, I was at my mom-in-law's for the weekend, as I usually am. And, again as usual, I called my voice mailbox for the home phone to check messages. Lo and behold, a message from Miah. Which had been left at about 2:30 a.m., and which gave me the phone number to her hospital room... HOSPITAL ROOM?!?!?! Of course I called right away, and through a fog of morphine (administered by a hottie male nurse, incidentally) she giggled her way through the story. It had all begun when she had gone skydiving, several years before. Her little brother found it incredibly cool, and so she promised him that if he stuck it out and graduated high school, they would go skydiving together. So the weekend before his graduation, she and her boyfriend of several years lived up to the promise.

Dave jumped, and it went fine.

Johnny jumped and it went fine.

Miah jumped, the chute didn't open quite correctly, and then an errant gust of wind pushed her into a stand of trees, a small forest really, on private land next to the airstrip. There was a small clearing within that stand of trees. She missed it. Now, you have to remember, this is how SHE described it to ME... You know those cartoons, where someone falls through the trees, hitting each branch on the way down with some grunt or groan of pain? Yeah. That was her. When all was said and done, she wound up with a shattered ankle, a fractured back (don't worry, she's not paralyzed), a bruised bottom and an even more bruised ego. Lying flat on her back, as the pros from the skydiving place are shouting reassurances through the walkie talkies or whatever, she hears the disgruntled landowner fussing and shouting about people trespassing on his property. The skydiving people were trying to calm him and apologize, and she, STILL FLAT ON HER BACK AND BROKEN, is shouting her apologies... "Sorry, mister, didn't mean to hit your trees!"

Well, she's out of commission for quite a while, sleeping in a rented hospital bed, out of work and on short-term disability, but taking it all in stride. In the meantime, after she had finished telling me, and the morphine was starting to make her sleepy, we got off the phone. I proceeded to tell my daughters what had happened to their Auntie Miah, and of course, AS SHE DID, I laughed hysterically the whole time. My mom-in-law, standing nearby, crossed her arms and shook her head in disapproval, "She's such a good friend to you, how can you laugh about it like that?!??!" until I reassured her that Miah had laughed twice as hard telling me, albeit on heavy painkillers.

About half an hour later, we were all inside watching cartoons (Brandy & Mr. Whiskers, to be exact), and one of the characters fell out of a treehouse, toppling to the ground below, hitting every branch on the way down, with load grunts and groans all the way. My mom-in-law said, so softly we almost didn't hear her, "Hey, girls, look... that's what happened to Auntie Miah."

Lost on the Highways of Houston

Time for one more post tonight.

This is the story I alluded to when I talked about picking up Steve and finding the fountain three times. It happened the night of the Fireplace Story, when we suddenly discovered we were picking up Eric roughly twelve hours early. Although it was three months after the incident with Steve, neither Miah nor I was THAT much more familiar with Houston streets. Still, we knew the way to the bus station, at least moderately well; you just shot up 45, took the correct exit, and voila!

So there's this movie with Charlie Sheen in it, I think it's called "The Chase," or some such thing. It involves at least one big car chase. A big car chase that was apparently being filmed on I-45 that night, for which they had the freeway blocked off. No big deal, right? We could still just drive along the feeder/frontage road/whatever, right?

Wrong. Because on that particular stretch of freeway, it gets a little screwy, and if you don't know where you're going, you can get routed onto other streets. Even, as it happens, other freeways. Trying to get back on the freeway further north, where it was not shut down, we somehow wound up in the lane that would put us onto 59 north. No problem, though, because we could just take the next exit, flip a U, and be right back where we started, right?

Wrong. Because the next exit wasn't an exit, precisely, but an entrance ramp onto I-10, heading toward Baytown. BAYTOWN. So we should be able to take the next exit, and turn around, and head back the way we came. Well, it just so happened that the next exit, took us into a neighborhood called the Fifth Ward. The Fifth Ward is not a place for two little white girls in a Ford Taurus at midnight, for those of you who are keeping track.

So. Hightail it out of 5th Ward, back onto 10 West, to 59 South, to 45 South, to FINALLY the exit to get to the bus station. Which we promptly overshot on a one-way street and had to circle the block. Finally we got there, found a place to park (dubious though it was), and went inside. Where it took us a good 5-10 more minutes to locate Eric, despite the fact that it's a rather small building and wasn't exactly bustling with activity. At which point he looks up and says, "What took you guys so long? I've been waiting forever!" I subsequently advised him that if he valued his life, he'd shut up before the steam coming out of Miah's ears got any thicker.

We loaded up our passenger and headed home. And somehow, some way... oh yeah, you guessed it... we managed to once again pass the Magic Fountain.

The Cockroach Story

Okay, was going to write the story of what happened immediately following the fireplace incident, but then started thinking about the cockroach story instead. You're gonna love this.

When Miah and I first moved into our apartment, we were moving all of our stuff from her parents' house, where she had been living (and my stuff had been stored) all summer. Early that first day, we went to the apartment while it was still empty. Maraiah likes things neat and orderly (how we EVER lived in the same house, is beyond me!) and so she didn't fully trust the apartment complex to clean to her standards for the move-in. We went to run through it with the vacuum, and to set off some bug bombs. We returned about 2 hours later to open the windows and air the place out, then later that afternoon with the first load of boxes. We did a walk-through of the place, and a re-vacuuming to suck up any bug bodies that might be laying around. We tackled the living room together, then each headed off to inspect our own bedroom and bathroom. And that's when I heard a bloodcurdling shriek. I went running into her bedroom and looked into the bathroom, where she stood in the doorway (I heard the mission bell... oops, no, wrong story) pointing at something behind the toilet. I asked her what it was, and she gasped, "Cockroach!"

Now, if you've ever lived in an apartment in southeast Texas, you know that little bitty cockroaches are darn near impossible to keep out of the house completely, unless you happen to have no job, no life, no purpose IN life other than to stalk and kill tiny vermin. And knowing how she sometimes overreacted to un-neatness, I was sure she was talking about a little baby cockroach.

Until I came around to the other side of the toilet, where I saw a cockroach that was, to put it plainly, FRIGGIN' HUGE!!!! The kind that are roughly the size of what we called potato bugs, back home in NorCal. (Side note: My sister, mother and I are so afraid of potato bugs that once, when we saw one on my mom's bedroom floor, we all jumped up on the bed, and stayed that way for a good ten minutes, before my sister bravely LEAPT the five feet from the bed to the door, and ran across the street to get the neighbor boy to come catch and kill it.) Anyway, back to the bathroom in Texas, with the ginormous, albeit very very DEAD, cockroach. Miah and I had the kind of reasonable, cool-headed debate one would expect in such a situation.

"You get it."
"No, you get it!"
"You said you could handle it."
"It's your bathroom."

And back and forth, until I was finally just a little bit ashamed of my fear of a dead bug. (Even though it was a GIANT dead bug.) And so, I devised a plan. Ran to the kitchen, fetched the broom and dustpan. Stuck the dustpan on the end of the broom to make a sort of shovel-like apparatus. Discovered that the broom handle was too narrow, or perhaps the dustpan handle too wide, for that to work - the dustpan kept slipping to the side whenever we scooped the cockroach into it. But then, we're resourceful women.

Duct tape.

Taped the dustpan to the broom handle. Miah stood with her back pressed firmly to the wall, holding the toilet lid up. I screwed up every last bit of courage I had, and scooped the cockroach into the dustpan, then quickly flipped it into the toilet. Miah dropped the toilet lid, sat on it (so the little bugger couldn't suddenly pop up out of it - we've both seen horror movies, and besides, those little suckers sometimes PLAY dead to trick you), and flushed.

Then we flushed again, just to be sure.

And the third time was the charm.

Thus OFFICIALLY began our adventures (though the beginnings of the apartment search 4 months prior gave us a pretty good clue as to how it would go)...

More adventures to come, later on, including the trip to the bus station, Mike and the Chinese food, the hunt for an apartment, Railroad the Cat, and the World's Best Excuse.

Desperado

A co-worker let me know the other day that I could rip CDs into my computer’s library, and so I’ve started to do it. Los Lonely Boys, the Stones, and of course, my Eagles. Right now I’m in the process of listening to shuffled play, and entering song titles because for some reason it wouldn’t do it automatically. So one of my old favorites, “Desperado,” is playing, and for the first time in ages, I really listen to the words. Must be in a contemplative state of mind, because a line caught my attention as I was singing along softly. “It seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table, but you only want the ones that you can’t get.”

Well my current situation is screwy and complicated, and I’m not seeing ANY fine things that are laid upon my table, so to speak, but I also find myself wanting things I can’t get. Somehow I think I set myself up for it. I think I allow myself to only want what I can’t get, because I can’t handle the responsibility that will come with getting something. Does that make sense? It’s similar to my friend Erika’s hesitance to quit smoking a few weeks ago, for those who are familiar with that story. Basically, she would rather NOT quit, than quit, backslide, and have failed at quitting… (Luckily for her lungs, and thus for those of us who love her, she took the plunge and has been doing wonderfully… YAY Erika!) I guess I would rather go after things that aren’t realistically attainable, so that when I don’t get them, I can blame it on the fact that they’re unattainable, rather than it being some error or failure on my part. A desperate attempt to avoid any real commitment, which in turn would open me up to… well, to what’s already happened to me in the past. Yet another crushing blow to my hopes, dreams, and plans for the future. It’s (crazily enough) like a line from an old Adam & The Ants song. “You cannot lose if you throw the race.”

Picking up Steve (Background)

Writing this one really quickly before work, as background for the story I'll write later, which is what happened after the fireplace incident. Confused yet? Me too!

It was literally about two weeks since Miah and I had moved into our apartment (note to self: go back and tell the cockroach story later), and we were to have our first houseguest. A friend of hers named Steve, whom she had known from back when she lived in El Paso. The place still had That New Apartment Smell, and we were both excited to be having anyone there. That would change soon; the semester had yet to start, and we hadn't become the default place to crash yet.

So we went to the airport, forget which one, and met Steve's flight. We wanted to take him on a little drive to show off our fair city. Now it gets fun. I had only lived in Houston for two years, and didn't have a car for any of that time, so I didn't really know how to get anywhere. Miah had lived in a far south suburb and the main route she was familiar with, was home-to-school and back. Houston, if you've ever driven it, gets a little confusing. One-way streets, streets that change names three times in a one-mile stretch, streets that blend into one another - whoever initially laid the city out, was on the early-20th-century version of crack. (Note: Houston existed earlier than that, but didn't really become viable until the 1940s or so. Not coincidentally, that was shortly after air conditioning was invented.)

I don't remember where we were trying to take Steve, or what it was we were trying to show him. What I DO remember, is that we drove past a lovely water fountain in the Museum District, right near where Main, Montrose, and a few other streets intersect, near the zoo and Hermann Park.

We drove past it three times.

We never meant to drive past it at all. To this day, "Let's take Fannin!" sends us off into fits of laughter. But then, a lot of things do. She and I are one hell of a team.

The Fireplace Story

This may be the first of many stories I finally write down about the ten months or so that I shared an apartment with my best friend/sister from another mother/ partner in crime, otherwise known as Hurricane Miah, and/or The Miahnator. (Yes, for those of you that know my kids’ names, Little Bit was named after her. It was the least I could do, in recognition of the fact that she actually witnessed all three births. Poor girl!)

So anyway. Miah and I had an apartment together off-campus in our junior year of college, and it quickly became a gathering place for all of our friends. Sometimes unannounced, but that is a story for another day. On this particular occasion, our guest was expected. It was November, and we’d had the place for a few months. Anyone who’s lived in Houston knows, there is really no need for a fireplace except for possibly a brief window of time between, say, Christmas and mid-January. But because we had loved the IDEA of a fireplace, we’d used it several times by then (usually either sitting around in shorts and tank tops, or with the A/C on high, but by golly we were gonna use the thing). The guest we were expecting was our ex-boyfriend. To clarify, he was my ex as of about 2 months before, and her ex as of about 5 years before. We were vigorously cleaning the apartment, but didn’t know what to do about the smoke stains on the wall above the fireplace. See, it took us a while to get the hang of the whole “flue” thing. As we were debating our options, the phone rang. Eric, the airman from North Carolina, was no longer going to be arriving at noon the next day. He was going to be arriving at midnight that night. This drove us into high gear, and we headed for Wal-Mart to buy a small can of paint. Now, if you’ve ever tried to match paint, you know our dilemma. There are roughly 200 billion shades of off-white. We spent a healthy half-hour arguing over just which can was the right shade, before I gave in to her selection. So we go home, try the paint – too light. I’m dispatched to Wal-Mart to get the other shade, while she begins the ghastly chore of cleaning Honey Bunny’s cage. I go straight for my original choice, bring it home, and triumphantly slap it on the wall – only to find that it, too, is too light. Well, we don’t have time to run through all 200 billion colors looking for the right one, so instead we begin to look around the house for something to darken it up, just a tad. Finally, we settle on vanilla extract.

Yes. Vanilla extract.

Which darkens the paint up some (we just mixed a small bit on the lid) but not enough. What else? Of course… cinnamon… Close, but no cigar… But just a pinch of nutmeg, and – TA DA!!! – success… We begin to slather the concoction on the wall, and just about that time the door opens. Another friend, one of those who frequently dropped in without warning, was dropping in without warning. He walks in to the sight of both of us, giggly from the adventure and slightly high on paint fumes, kneeling in front of the fireplace, as the bunny scampers merrily through the apartment.

He walks right back out, shaking his head. It’s something we wound up seeing quite often in those 10 months.

Well the wall wound up looking perfect, and when Eric eventually made it to the house (a story in and of itself, thanks to Houston freeways and inexperienced drivers), everything was ship-shape. He did comment, though, that whenever we lit the fireplace, the whole house suddenly smelled like cookies baking.

Attention Ho'

There are precious few people who even know this blog exists, much less read it. But someone read it the other day and told me... and it was A BOY!!! *giggles* A man actually, and since I thrive on attention, it's gotten me posting again. So. What is this obsession with attention doing to me? Not just attention from him, mind you, but whatever attention I can snag, anywhere. Which has me up at all hours of the night. See, I COULD be getting to sleep around midnight, maybe even before. Instead, I'm in chat rooms, and IMs, and another blog site (a more grown-up one, shall we say)... and of course, staying up because I'm volleying e-mails with someone in a different time zone, and it's so much fun I can't resist.

So. When I have to get up at 6 a.m. or so... I'm up until 1 or 2 the night before. No wonder I have these huge bags under my eyes! LOL

Perpetual student

You would think that, now that the school year is over, the job search is done, and I'm happily settled into my new job, I would have more time to keep up with this. Instead... I guess I have a little more time, but less inclination. A little less to talk about, and some of the biggest things on my mind, I'd rather not blog about. I'm making this post from work, actually, so it'll be short and sweet, but I plan to make a point of keeping up with this better.

So I might have to take a summer class, but hopefully can test out of it instead. If so, and if I can scrape up the money, there are three leisure learning classes I REALLY want to take. First of all , Reiki. Which apparently I have a gift for, and already do fairly well with my limited training. But I'd like to do the formal class, and get certified. I think it complements the whole social work thing nicely. Second, reflexology. I have reason to believe it works, but if you want that story, it better be one-on-one. LOL It's perhaps a skosh racy for such a public forum. Third, self-hypnosis. Specifically, I know myself well enough to know that it might be the most effective way for me to finally get my eating habits, my domestic habits (or lack thereof), and my time management issues under control. Maybe even my finances.

Yeah, and monkeys might fly outta my butt! (Oh the memories that phrase brings...)