Just when you thought Mojo couldn't POSSIBLY get ANY cooler (uhhhh, you WERE thinking that just now, weren't you?), Mojo has gone back to her private vault of experiences to bring you her tenure at what used to be "The Wolf Sanctuary", more formally known as the Wild Canid Survival and Research Center at Wash U's Tyson Research Center in Eureka, MO. Being the charming lass she is, Mojo got permission from various Authority Figures (heh heh--suckers) and spent many an hour communing with wolves, well before it became oh-so-super-trendy to do so. (And eventually Mojo accepted the simple fact that the wolves, as noble wild creatures of intelligence and discernment, have no particular desire to commune with HER. Which is a lesson many a nature-lover has yet to learn, it sometimes seems.)

(The WCSRC has since changed its name to the Endangered Wolf Center; you can see what they're up to (and, hint hint, donate!) at http://www.endangeredwolfcenter.org.)  MORE Mojo! »

Mojo grew up in a happy family that, quite frankly, doesn't really care WHAT the hell they drive so long as it runs. When Mojo buys a car her intention is that it will last her ten years before it crumbles to the point where it won't pass its state-mandated yearly inspection. When repairs start exceeding the book value of the vehicle, it's time to go shopping for a new one.

That's not to say I don't appreciate nice cars, although I think most sports cars just look kinda silly and uncomfortable. The COOLEST car I ever rode in was when I spent an afternoon tooling around NYC in a certain producer's car. It was a real London cab, custom-made to have the driver on the left, and upholstered in Burberry fabric. It was pretty darn cool, except every time something went wrong with the car they had to have parts shipped across the pond. Eventually the London cab was sold, and Mojo felt a wee bit sad, but Say La Vee.

At one point when I was in my 20s I wrote out my family's history of cars, since, among other personality quirks, we have a tendency to swap among ourselves as individual needs require. There was The Van (a "metallic bronze" Sportsman we dubbed "The Pumpkinmobile"), "Peter the Turd" (a dark brown lozenge-shaped Toyota hatchback), and my personal favorite, "The Blandmobile"--a generic beige sedan with a beige interior. I think it was a Ford, but don't hate me if I'm wrong.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, so I meant to post this last week, but I got busy doing STUFF and neglected my duties to YOU, o patient yet rabid internet fan. Because Mojo's sainted and beloved Favorite Parental Units decided to take advantage of some Moonie church thingie and Renew Their Wedding Vows. Which is nice 'n' all, attempting to legalize something a wee bit FIFTY TWO YEARS TOO LATE, but that's not the issue anyway.

The main focus here is not Twoo Wuv Ferever but, rather, Revenge, Mojo Style. Because our sainted Favorite Mother, in her infinite wisdom, decided it was too much to ask her progeny to drive all the way down to the Reasonably Big City to witness this event. Probably because none of us individually could find our way out of a paper bag, but I digress. My point is, she made it somewhat evident to all of us that she did not expect us there, and even went so far as to slyly imply that we were not even WANTED there. Which is fightin' words. Tell Mojo and her Favorite Siblings they cannot do something, and they are prone to go do it anyway, out of spite. And spite and anniversaries just go hand in hand, don't they?  MORE Mojo! »

So yesterday I am sort of perusing the ol' finances, given the very recent announcement that my Favorite Husband's work is cutting his check yet again, resulting in what amounts to a combined 25% pay cut, which is not catastrophic yet but it DOES gives one pause, especially when one rather likes sushi. And thinking to oneself, okay, so if we don't cut back and continue enjoying our present lifestyle we have about a year or so before things seriously catch up to you.  MORE Mojo! »

So apparently there was an earthquake in California this week. It was nothing to write home about, as far as earthquakes apparently go, but since it was California in the middle of the day it was captured on some ten thousand different cameras and before long YouTube was glutted with "earthquake videos".

Now, I don't know this because I am breathlessly watching the news, or YouTube trends, or anything like that. It's just that my Favorite Husband was, ahem, "kind" enough to leave the television on when he left for work. Mojo was in the bathtub yelling at him to turn it off but he did not, so my lovely morning bath was ruined by whatever idiot show was on--I want to guess it was Regis and Kelly? Anyway, yet another petty complaint, but I digress.  MORE Mojo! »

So yesterday I took my daily pictures of the little spudlings in their nest. And this morning when skipping out for whatever it is I do all day, I glanced in and shore nuff they were all there, looking up at me.

I was a teeny wee bit worried because my Favorite Husband looked in on them yesterday when he got home from work and he very casually asked something along the lines of "Ummm...are they still alive? Because I didn't see them breathing or moving or anything."  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, Mojo is ready to make her yearly announcement to all the furriners currently clogging the roads. And that announcement is: just go home. Mojo doesn't want you here. Mojo is sick and tired of encountering you on the road. Mojo does not like you popping by *HER* store where SHE gets coffee every morning and getting in her way or--heaven forbid--getting between her and the donut box. Especially if you are just going to STAND there and not get a donut. Mojo now has to stand there, cup in hand, gabbing with the store owners, politely waiting for you to MOVE OUT OF THE WAY so she can get her donut. And YOU, clueless noob, just STAND there gushing about how QUAINT everything is. Believe me, you won't think it so quaint and the rustic people you encounter so kind and nice when Mojo finally snaps and starts spewing a bunch of syllables that include things that sound like "gerrottaway!" and "donut".

So please, while you are admiring the innocent simplicity of the Natives, see where you are in relation to the donuts and think of others for one brief second of your self-absorbed life and politely excuse yourself.  MORE Mojo! »