Last weekend, I think it was, my Favorite Husband wanted to go to the movies, and I couldn't see anything worth wasting ten bucks and two hours of my life on. So I stayed home and did laundry and played Wii Fit, and he went by himself. He saw Armored, which I suppose I could have watched on video if I HAD to, but opted out of instead. Certainly *HE* wasn't so gung-ho on it that I would have broken his mighty heart by not going with him. His review was what I suspected--a grunt and a shrug--but he came home a good half-hour later than I expected him.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, one last parental story and then Mojo's off for the weekend. This is actually a GRANDparental story, since it involves my grandfather, who was a professor at Penn State. (And only, like, THE most popular prof at the time--he always said his highest honor was winning the first "Professor Snarf" award, which was an annual fundraiser and popularity contest. With 19,000 votes he received nearly TWICE the votes of the runner-up. Clearly Mojo did not get her charming personality from HIM.... but once again I digress.) He taught forestry, so unless you happen to be a forester (meaning the profession, NOT the car) there's a really good chance you've never heard of him. So I'll go ahead and claim he was a WORLD RENOWNED FORESTER, since none of you foresterless jamokes will ever know the difference. (So now in addition to your constant Mojo-worship you can ooh and ahh over Mojo's lofty gene pool, as well.)

One of the things about having a forester in the family is, you hear lots of forester jokes and anecdotes that you would otherwise NEVER HEAR.  MORE Mojo! »

So while Mojo is not a HUGE sports fan by any means, even HER carefully isolated and insulated Perfect Life is occasionally jarred by Other People's references to professional sports and politics, two things Mojo has absolutely no interest in but others do--scary rabid others--so Mojo is forced at times to listen to someone's spittle-flying diatribe about the glories of Their Team versus the EEEEEVILS of the Other Side.  MORE Mojo! »

How can I say this? I will just say it. My husband HATES organized sports, of all kinds. I mean, really, really hates them. Hate with a capital "H". Hates, hates, hates. He don't like them, 'kay?

While no great lover of sports myself, I don't out and out HATE them quite as much as he does. In fact, with both of my parents as Penn State grads, I used to have a mild interest in American football. No more. Whenever I tried to watch a game early on (we're talking about twenty years ago) my husband would indulge in a running commentary on how much he hates sports and how-come-they-pay-adults-such-obscene-amounts-of-money-to-play-a-game until it just became easier for me to stop watching. Rest assured, oh horrified ones, if I really CARED about football I would have continued watching and he would have ultimately learned to deal with it, but I was never THAT wild about it. Eh. Compromise. It's a Good Thing.  MORE Mojo! »