IN WHICH Mojo Offers Us Marital Advice in the Form of An Anecdote

I don't know why I suddenly remembered this story. Maybe because it is spring, and in spring firewood is about the last thing I think of, yet today in my travels I saw someone getting a truckload of firewood delivered. This happened very early on, perhaps even before we were Officially Married, so we're talking WELL over twenty years ago.

Anyway, Back In the Day, Mojo and her Favorite Husband were this cooperative machine-like team when it came to firewood. (Well, we still are, only lately we've gotten lazy and have it delivered instead of wasting our spare time scrounging around for it. But I digress.) We were renting a house with a wood stove in the basement. The Favorite Husband's job was to cut and collect the firewood from somewhere on the property, throw it in the pickup, drive back to the house, back up to the cellar hatchway and fling the firewood down into the cellar. My job was to lurk in the cellar and stack the wood while avoiding getting beaned with the firewood my Favorite Husband was flinging down upon me. You can probably surmise where this story is going to go, knowing the way Mojo's luck generally runs, but THIS time the story will run COUNTER to your guess! More Mojo!>>

She's Trying To Not Get Too Excited....

For those who haven't yet figured it out, Mojo is a morning person. She usually wakes up without an alarm sometime between four and five, and lies there like a slugabed until her Favorite Husband's alarm goes off at five. And then she's NOT going to get in his way, oh, no, for she is THAT sort of devoted kind considerate person, so she lies about some more like a wallowing hog until she can't stands it no more, usually around five thirty or so, and then she gets up and makes her half coffee/half hot chocolate Morning Treat. More Mojo!>>

Stupidity on Television! Who'dah Thunk It!

I promised myself I wouldn't comment on whoever is now doing the Old Navy commercials. For AGES Old Navy has always played the obnoxious card, using D-list celebrities and Seventies-sitcom has-beens. I still have the dreadful "performance fleece" earworm in my head on occasion, which is probably grounds for a lawsuit should I ever choose to be litigious. And then there were the odd ones with the old lady fashion writer, whose name escapes me--the one with the giant ugly glasses. Her and the dog. Very intentionally kitschy, as I understood it. Carrie Donovan. That was her name. More Mojo!>>

Another Dreadful Movie Weekend!

Why does Mojo bother, I wonder? Why doesn't she just give it up already? Why demand a minimum of mediocrity from a world so obviously not into excellence? Because Mojo, under the crusty facade of bitter, petty complaints, remains an optimist at heart. Either that, or she's just irretrievably stupid. Your call.

My Favorite Husband wasn't feeling well, and actually called me at the lieberry for me to bring home movies. Since we've seen just about everything, it was purty slim pickins. (I apologize for the slump into vernacular. You will realize why tomorrow.) More Mojo!>>

Mojo and the Night Visitors

'Tis the season, I guess. If I were reasonably intelligent I would probably look over the entries from last year and see if I was whining about the same thing this time of year. Or maybe Ratty has just reached a level of personal and professional development that puts a slugabed like Mojo to shame. Anyway, it was another mouse rodeo when I came home from the library late last night, and then ANOTHER one this morning. More Mojo!>>

Whoopsie--Almost Forgot!

I got so wrapped up in complaining about the beastly little chipmunk I forgot about my walking out of a movie this weekend and hence forgot about what I was GOING to write about, which was the OTHER movies I saw and did NOT walk out on this past weekend. Well, not including the made-for-television The Incredible Hulk DVD that SOMEONE got my Favorite Husband for Christmas. I forget who, mercifully for them, although I suspect it was my Favorite Brother as a Cruel Joke At My Expense. More Mojo!>>

Happy Burnday!

No, not burthday. That was a week ago yesterday, thank you very much for all the large expensive gifts. (I DO accept large expensive gifts all month, if one is thus inclined). No, today is the first anniversary of Mojo's Carnival of Smiles, a source for many more amusing complaints and whinings than even Mojo is ordinarily capable of. More Mojo!>>

The Gods 'n' Goddesses of Yore....

Talking about Irene Papas yesterday got me pondering--hey, it beats being productive!--about just why I like ancient Greek mythology and whatnot. Because ordinarily I can't stand soap operas. But put 'em in togas, and I'll read or watch it 'til the cows come home. (Of course, I had a teenaged obsession was the miniseries I, Claudius, which, yes, is nothing but a giant soap opera, but let's face it, how many soap operas are you gonna get with the likes of Derek Jacobi, Patrick Stewart, Brian Blessed, Sean Phillips and other Royal Shakespearian sorts?) More Mojo!>>


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