So as I was saying, spent a lovely afternoon with my Favorite Mother and my Favorite Six-Year-Old Friend, enduring The Bee Movie. And then the ride home to drop off my Favorite Mother. Who decided to fill me in on a mutual acquaintance who is what Mojo rather uncharitably calls a "marriage skank".  MORE Mojo! »

Short Answer: They don't.

Long, involved, rambling and annoyingly digressive answer: We had left Rosie (the dog, for those who aren't paying attention) with my Favorite Parental Units. We left Ratty (who pretends to be a cat, but I suspect lurking in that walnut-sized brain is a very un-catlike emotionally needy and sensitive individual who thinks cats should range about in large social groups) at home with large buckets of food. Both cat food and dog food, since he has acquired such a taste for it.  MORE Mojo! »

Mojo's been reading too many heavy nonfiction books. It is one of the perks, and the dangers, of having thousands of free books hanging around where you work. My stack of books I wanna read would reach the ceiling.

And yet, being steeped in Reality--at least as Mojo envisions it, which to be honest has her Queen of All She Surveys and Intellectually Gifted--I've been dwelling too too much on nonfiction books that are making me think too much. And yes, there *IS* such a thing. At least for Mojo.  MORE Mojo! »

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! »

I was at the lieberry yesterday and a youngish patron came in who I figured would know about such things, so I asked what the deal was, and why we didn't get TP'd properly on Cabbage Night, and what in heck is wrong with you lazy bums.  MORE Mojo! »

No, really. I don't feel like dealing with the shrieky emails of how I ruined your day or how I traumatized your children. This post is going to be about gross things. It's going to be about how loving, cute widdle fluffy pets are going to do Unkind Things to helpless little creatures. It ended up happening to me TWICE yesterday, so it's on my mind. So I now hereby dump it OUT of my mind, and consequently INTO yours.

I apologize in advance. And break here, so the squeamish will not have to deal with it.  MORE Mojo! »

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! »

Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it. Between you and me, I don't want him here.

Anyone who reads the Craptacular KNOWS Mojo does NOT appreciate guests who just drop in unannounced. It's just Not Cool. Okay, so maybe that particular whiny complaint got kinda buried with all the other complaints Mojo makes on an hourly basis. Still, people oughta know.  MORE Mojo! »

It turns out Mojo's Favorite Husband has finagled a couple of days off from work, so Mojo has decided to take a few days off, too. I will see everyone Monday.

In the meantime, I woke up with a dreadful song from childhood running through my head. I think it was a particularly insipid Roger Miller tune. It started off something like, "Engine, engine number nine, comin' down the railroad line..." and that's all I really remember. But those two lines have been bothering me all morning.  MORE Mojo! »

Six simple words:

Mojo fills the ice cube trays.

Yep. It's one of her THINGS. She's über anal-retentive about it, although if you're like me you don't really WANT such a phrase attached to your ice cube trays, huh? Not without making sure people wash their hands, and you just KNOW they NEVER do.  MORE Mojo! »