Another public service announcement by your good pretend internet friend, Mojo. She only asks that you remember her kindness while you are testifying against her in a court of law. In the meantime, while Mojo has always been a "never say never" kinda gal, here's why there will probably never be a Pope Mojo:
1. Mojo's Not Catholic.
I'm by no means an authority on the Catholic Church, but I can't help but suspect this is gonna be a deal breaker right off the bat. Frankly, I'd be playing a lot of catchup compared to the other candidates. I suppose I'd have to convert, and, quite frankly, that sounds like an awful lot of work just to swing a free trip to Italy.
2. Mojo's Female.
I'm led to believe this is some sort of problem with the Catholic Church when it comes to ultimate authority. Though there have always been rumors of "Pope Joan" several hundred years ago (she--very amusingly, to Mojo's admittedly sick sense of humor--GAVE BIRTH in the middle of some sort of procession, which is how she was found out, which makes Mojo think she must have been one heckuva person to process and give birth simultaneously), the reality of Pope Mojo is even more tenuous than that time-honored schoolyard rumor (along with the rumors of secret passageways between the monks' bedrooms and the nuns'--yes, Mojo grew up among several Catholic friends and this was a constant speculative urban legend when they Became Of Age).
3. Mojo's Not Celibate.
Yeah, um, she's been married for well over twenty years, and with the guy for even longer. And, umm, the whole celibacy thing probably isn't going to change on either side, huh? So, uhhhh, that's a big no, there. We'll leave it at that.
So I was up at three yesterday, doin' Important Stuff, and when I got back home in the early afternoon instead of taking a nap--which is what Mojo felt like doing, quite desperately--I instead decided to take a quick hike to my spot, since it looked and felt like one of the best last days of autumn. The lake gets REALLY COLD and windy once it freezes over, and the snow gets knee- and waist-deep, and a casual hike turns into some sort of endurance death march instead of a lazy stroll. And when you reach the lake, instead of "ahhh, here I am at the lake" you are instead sliced to ribbons by this freezing, freezing biting wind coming off the ice. So I tend to only hike down there in the winter when my Favorite Husband FORCES ME TO.
But for your continuing envy and edification, I took my cell phone with me, so in addition to fielding a call from my Favorite Older Sister I was able to document autumn's last gasp in Mojo's neck of the woods.
Notice how Mojo, by cunningly adding that clip of Mister Rogers, by virtue of association can now reap the benefits of people thinking that maybe Mojo, too, might be a nice person. Because, sadly, it is my experience that that's often really about as far as people think. So all it often takes is some schiester to quote someone else, and poof! Instant cred! Because, if people have a problem with them--like, say, you disagree with something Mojo has written--Mojo can now respond with something along the lines of "What? You HATE Mister Rogers? You are really THAT heartless? You know what?