Tales of Dragons, Rabbits and Roosters

MOJO

I was really disturbed yesterday to listen to the Yahoo entertainment commentator say nasty things about Cher not being able to cry at Chaz Bono’s dance recital because of her cosmetic surgery.

First, she looks Fan ROCKIN tastic. Second, she is a Diva and if she didn’t look eternally young you would criticize her for that.  Third don’t make fun of my friend.

Yes Cher and I are friends, well – that is – we both know Mojo.

Mojo is my husband.  And there are two reasons I married him.

1 – He remembers everything and acts as my life’s walking encyclopedia.  Sometimes if he gets a little tipsy he reveals too much from the “X” pages where people don’t usually go and I kick him under the table.

2- He has LESS than 6 degrees of separation with everyone.  And that includes Cher.

Everybody but Mojo

A couple years ago, Mojo walked straight through the First Class Lounge in the Bahrain airport to his favorite quiet corner.  He was a bit irritated to see a slim woman in boots and a cowboy hat and her friend sitting in his spot.  He sat near them and pulled out his laptop.

Within seconds he recognized the voice and turned around and asked.

“What are you doing here?”

It was Cher.  She was returning from a trip to Kathmandu.  Her flight was diverted to Bahrain because the Bangkok airport had been bombed and was closed.

“I am on my way to Germany to see a friend,” she told Mojo.  “But they can’t tell me whether or not I will fly out tonight.  Can you recommend a place to stay if we get stuck here?”

“You are welcome to stay at our house.  My wife would love to host you.  I am going out of town,” he offered pulling out his mobile and dialing the house.  Please Eva pick up he thought.

I heard the phone ringing but it was about midnight.  Who would be calling besides my husband?

“Eva I’m at the airport.  There are some stranded passengers here and I was hoping you could have them stay at the house.”  Before I could protest about all the things I needed to do, he handed the phone over to Cher.

“Hello” was all she said.

“Is this really Cher?” I nearly screamed but restrained myself like any self respecting (Los) Angeleno.

We chatted for about a half an hour.  She told me about trying to sell her house in Malibu, Vegas, Katmandu, vacationing in Santa Barbara and I invited her and her assistant to stay with us.

“Is there anything to do in Bahrain?  Should I try to stay here for a couple of days?”

Cher’s name in lights at Caesar’s Palace, Believe, singing Shoop Shoop Shoop in Mermaids, getting an Oscar, Moonstruck, her farewell tour all went through my mind.  I compared those images with the Gulf Hotel ballroom and hesitated two seconds too long before springing into my “Bahrain is so interesting” speech.

Cher promised she would give me a call if she ended up staying.  “You Haven’t Seen the Last of Me” she promised.   She flew onto Germany that night.

Cher’s new movie Burlesque made over $100 million.  The other day Cher tweeted her Rimpoche arrived from Kathmandu.    And Mojo said she has a great ass.

Thank You.

Besides a two minute video clip on Yahoo every other day, what do you have ugly, chubby man?