Attention all burglars: I may have alluded to this before, but in case there is any confusion allow me to reiterate: Mojo has THE WORST WATCHDOG on the face of the earth. It is to the point that, when I hear a car in the driveway, I look over at Rosie snoozing away in her bed and I say "Okay, someone's here. How long will it be before you notice?" Generally speaking they have to be walking in the house before she'll get up. I've come in and hung my coat up and flipped through the mail and checked for messages, and then finally shouted, "Okay, I'm here! I think I'll rob the house!" before I finally hear her rise up from her bed and come look at me through the balcony railing. Not come DOWN, mind you, until I ask her to--no, she'd just stand there wagging her tail if I didn't insist she come greet me properly. (And you think MOJO's lazy!)

Of course this is not the case when my Favorite Husband comes home. Oh, no, heaven forfend! Him coming home involves some sort of national holiday, the shameless flirt. Yay! Daddy's home! He's SO much more fun than Mojo, the woman who FEEDS me and BRUSHES me!

So anyway. Lately I've been waking up around three or four in the morning. I'm sure this is NOT due to perimenopause, as one friend has suggested, but instead due to a combination of my going to sleep around eight in the evening and living the vibrant, exciting lifestyle Mojo so enjoys. But since my Favorite Husband needs his beauty sleep, I tend to sneak out of the bedroom and bop quietly around downstairs until he happens to get up, which is around five. Early on I tried to get the dog to come with me, but she is such a slugabed I usually don't try anymore.  MORE Mojo! »

So the other day I received in the mail a complimentary review copy of a book that was sent to me under the poor author's misunderstanding that Mojo has some sort of Magical In with the publishing industry. While I enjoy getting freebies, for the record I DON'T have that Magical In would-be authors desire, and with the exception of textbooks (which yeah, I agree, they are TOTALLY overpriced) Mojo tends to think that you do indeedy get what you pay for in the writing world.  MORE Mojo! »

Maybe. I haven't decided yet. There's not much snow on the ground, but it's supposed to freezing rain all day.

You could tell a storm was coming because EVERYONE came into the library yesterday to get movies and books. Similar to how grocery stores run out of bread and milk. I thought it might be excitement over my upcoming lecture Thursday on the library's new project of vermicomposting (luckily for me the worms came in the mail on Monday), but no, they just wanted movies. Although they were interested and welcoming to our bin of new squirmy friends.

Speaking of bread, when I got home last night I set a batch of the NYT's no-knead bread out for today. If the power goes out I'll just cook it in the Royal Herald along with a few home-grown potatoes, and a pot of vegetables on top. Maybe if I feel ambitious enough I'll make soup.

But maybe not. This *IS* Mojo we're talking about, after all...

Mojo

Two things, neither of them of any huge consequence. But Mojo enjoys her fretting.

First, ever since they've hatched, it has done nothing but RAIN TORRENTIALLY upon my helpless squirmy little spudlings. Mojo thinks this can't be good for them. Even if Mom sits on the nest and protects them--which she is--the little guys have to eat eventually. If they are like chickens they have a couple of days while they finish off the yolk so they don't have to eat (that's why chicken farms can ship them off and they can survive in the box). In fact when you get baby chicks through the mail the first thing you have to do is teach them how to drink. But these warbler nubbins aren't fully formed fluffballs, but instead nekkid little pink things that can't even raise their ginormous heads.  MORE Mojo! »

....filling out her Nielsen diary.

I stand corrected, first of all. I've been calling it Nielson, but it's Nielsen. Which just goes to show, Mojo just Doesn't Care Anymore, and it hasn't even STARTED.

Step One: I have to answer the following questions.

1. How many TV sets are in your home?

One.

2. How many of these are in working order?

Okay, this is just sad. Why would I keep one that WASN'T in working order? In other words, one.

3. Is this TV connected to a cable TV service?

BWAH HA HA HA HA HA HA! Welcome to the sticks.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, so right now Mojo is not thinking too kindly of ANY industry involved in heating her house. And in the midst of Mojo's heartbreaking Stove Day Fiasco, she gets a postcard in the mail from the oil company saying they're going to come clean and maintain her furnace on such-and-such a day, like a week from now.

And Mojo, speaking from the pain of heartbreak, gets a terrible, terrible idea. Of course, as we all know Mojo has her boundless love for all of God's creatures. But here she is in a nadir, a twilight of the spirit, one of those pivotal times in life where a naive innocent might get seduced by the dark side.

In other words, the thought crossed my mind to not change the cat box for the whole week leading up to when the poor oil guy comes to work on the furnace.

The cat box is about five feet from the furnace. Ratty's a big cat. He also has a rather annoying tendency to not bury things after he's done. In short, if I keep thinking along these lines of cruelty, the poor furnace guy is in for a world of hurt. At least where his nose is concerned.

I won't do it. It's not the poor furnace guy's fault oil prices are where they are and Mojo is stoveless. But the thought DID cross my mind.

Mojo

Yes, Mojo is the noble sort who doesn't snoop as a general rule. Your secrets are safe with her. She likes to think she is all noble, but really if it doesn't have anything to do with HER she can't be bothered.

Another reason for not snooping is simple. Mojo likes to live life in total innocence regarding Certain Topics. She just doesn't want to know. If people want to live their lives in certain ways and eat or do certain things, let them. Just don't tell her, okay? Case in point:  MORE Mojo! »

I suppose bidding on these candles might subject the winner to a lawsuit, but if everyone keeps quiet no one will find out. Possession being nine-tenths of the law you should then become the proud owner of a matched pair of pillar candles you can either use yourself or give to someone with a home you want to smell like stinky ferns.

Allow me to explain. My inlaws usually come down for the holidays to get together with my family, but they had better things to do this year and for some reason they decided to forego the pleasure of my company. My family did not know this, however, and several of my siblings got them presents anyway. My sister purchased these lovely candles mail order for a ludicrous amount of money, thinking that "fern" would be a lovely scent to bestow on people, but when she got them she discovered the smell was not to her liking. The pejorative "stinky" is her coinage, since I am deficient in that department.  MORE Mojo! »