a.k.a. Mojo Gets DMCA'd By a Heartless Soulless Media Giant and Learns Valuable Life Lessons About How We're All Human Beings 'n' Stuff.
You might not know it from her carefully crafted online persona, but in Real Life Mojo rather enjoys obscurity. She is not one of those pathetic attention whores who will wave at passing cameras and eat live bugs and document the nasty bathroom corners in her life in the feeble hope that people might like her. No, she avoids cameras like the plague. For the most part Mojo just wants to be left alone.
My other three siblings are all social butterflies, bless 'em, always out gallivanting with their friends, while Mojo chose long ago (indeed it's been one of several of Mojo's charmed life-long dreams come true) to move far away from polite society and pretty much live by herself in the woods. Okay, so the Favorite Husband came along, too, and he can be as annoyingly social as the sibs. Which is good for Mojo. But the simple fact is, Mojo lacks Certain Social Instincts: she rarely calls people, or invites them to lunch, or has much to do with them unless there is an obvious technical need to do so.
While she has never undergone any official diagnosis, a fairly recent brush with certain members of the Aspergers community has led Mojo to suspect she might have a touch of it, as well. She has always been somewhat faceblind, which does not help you socially when you talk to someone for an hour, they leave and come back in five minutes only to have an utterly blank Mojo ask, "Can I help you?" There's a lot more there than just that: social indifference, the ability to concentrate on one thing to the exclusion of everything else around, a certain obsessive need to be precise and correct about various topics, and the occasional ... um, let's call it RAGE ... when someone inadvertently transgresses the Unwritten Law. (Which can change on a dime. That's the beauty of being unwritten.)
"Rage" is perhaps too strong of a word. In private I tend to call it "Irish angry". It is a bombastic, over-the-top response to the most trivial of offenses, but it's the thinnest veneer imaginable and it dissipates almost immediately. It is often in inverse to the seriousness of the situation: in moments of true crisis I can be inhumanly calm (I have freaked people out about this, like The Time The Dog Got Hit by a Train story) whereas the tiniest thing inspires outbursts that can be felt on the Richter Scale. They say the Chinese language relies on specific "tones" to impart the subtle meaning of certain words or phrases. Mojo is not smart enough to master these tone thingies, so instead she occasionally relies on delicate shades of VOLUME to further enhance her arguments.
One thing that will never fail to set Mojo off is when someone is deliberately and obviously WRONG about something, and will not even consider correction. I don't mean wrong about IMPORTANT things, such as solving world hunger, blah blah blah ... I mean TRIVIA. In college I once played a literal game of Trivial Pursuit with a partner who was a stranger to me, and we almost immediately got into an argument over how many teaspoons in a tablespoon. Mojo has been cooking since she was a wee lass, and it doesn't take rocket science, nor Julia Child threatening your family, nor any sort of incredible, marketable SKILL to know the answer to that. I mean, it's THREE, right? As we squeally obnoxious girls used to say in junior high, "DUH".
Well, this guy starts arguing (mistake number one...) that he thought he read somewhere (oh, lord, stop me now...) it was actually a fractional amount, and the proverbial "THEY" (Mojo's getting one of her sick headaches...) rounded it up or down to three, but it's ACTUALLY (must.... resist.... urge.... to.... kill....) something like 2.95. I'm just STARING at him, KNOWING he's wrong, and our opponents are all laughing hysterically at our argument, but he would not drop it. Back and forth for an ETERNITY. So finally Mojo just gave it to him, said "fine, whatever" and, as anyone who knows anything about kitchens knows, Mister Positive was quickly and resoundingly corrected by the stupid little card. (Yes, a brainless piece of cardboard trumps Mojo's authority yet again.) I bring up this illustration to show you exactly who you are dealing with when dealing with Mojo, for that was nearly thirty years ago and even the kindest of you will notice Mojo has NEVER FORGOTTEN NOR FORGIVEN THAT MOMENT. Yes (Mojo sighs in a resignation she has long become familiar with), we're talking psycho.
The Favorite Husband, who does an extraordinary job whittling his beloved Mojo down to size, often plays on this just to watch the fireworks. He'll set me off, I will be in mid tirade, and catch the childlike glee in his face and realize he pressed buttons just to watch. Maybe ten or twenty years ago a favorite button of his was the "Easy Spirit" shoe commercial jingle. (See? What did I tell you? Stupid, stupid, STUPID things!) Those who remember these may recall various commercials of women playing basketball in high heels, along with the annoying earworm, "Looks like a pump, feels like a snea-ker". Just to annoy me, the Favorite Husband would bide his time, await the perfect moment, and then sing, "Looks like a shoe, feels like ... a SHOE!" and then ROAR with laughter as I start shrieking helpful corrections at him about that's-not-how-the-song-goes-you-idiot. Or words to that effect.
I bring up this charming little idiosyncrasy not to turn my private life into some form of cheap online entertainment, but only as a PRELUDE to help explain the dynamics of my next post. Which will be very long, and very involved, and have a great deal of Mojo Yelling at People in her charmingly shrieky Mojo fashion. If you are anything like my Favorite Husband, pop some popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show!