Jude Law Can Repo Me Any Time

Lawdy, lawdy, ain't Jude Law just the hunkiest darn thing since the invention of meat loaf?
Saw RepoMen tonight with the family. Let the boys watch as Jude sliced and diced his way through armies of flesh, but made them close their eyes at the nudie parts. So, yes, it's OK to let a 10 year old get a close look at an impromptu heart operation but don't let 'em see any reproductive organs.
Good movie – held me from start to finish but the ending, while brilliant, was morally bankrupt and reprehensible. Plus, it made us all go, "NO WAY!"
I've had a little thing for Mr. Law since he played the sexy single dad in The Holiday. You can see why. Self-deprecating. Charming. Dimples. Lovely accent.

I wish I had an accent. Oh, people say Canadians have accents and those who live in exotic locales like Newfoundland or Quebec do. But us pasty white bread Ontarians sound like we've all gone to the same TV journalism school.
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I got my hair done today. My hair looks flat, coincidentally a lot like Cameron Diaz's in the movie poster up there. The similarity pretty much ends there because she lacks a lot of my fine features: crooked yellow teeth, shit brown eyes, Pratt cheeks and strange hairs growing out of my chin. Oh, and the remnants of tacos in my hair. Tonight was Taco Night with the boys. I wore most of mine. Angus said to me, "That's attractive," so I grinned at him with a mouthful of sour cream and lettucey bits.
I got all the work done on the Wedding Guide that I could possibly do. Still missing a couple of stories and a couple of ads and there'll be a last minute rush to change everything around on Monday. I'll have a mini-breakdown and piss somebody off that I'll regret later and probably cry in the washroom but the guide will make it to press and it will be lovely and all will be right with the world.
Oh, I wish I could show it to you. It's especially lovely this year because I'm in it. It's a wee bit of comedy in an otherwise sordid publication full of ripe rosebuds and virgins about to be defrocked. The headline I wrote is Never Too Old For Happy but I should have called it Here Comes The Bride, All Fat and Wide.
A friend at work was working on her own Wedding Guide a while back and started singing that song under her breath then she realized what she was doing, looked at me, blushed red to her roots and abruptly stopped. I almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard over that one.
Speaking of that friend, my dear Karen sent me a message today. Dave took the boys cross-country skiing at one of Karen's favourite haunts and when they came back to the Jeep somebody had written "Hi Kathy" in the snow on the window.
The boys were all excited – there they were in the middle of nowhere and someone was saying hi to me.
Nah, I wasn't there, I was at home working on the Wedding Guide but I wish I had of been. They said it was just beautiful, slicing through the forest on well-groom tracks, up hills dotted with evergreens, down hills that wound through hardwoods.
Maybe tomorrow. But maybe not. They're calling for wicked cold temperatures tomorrow: a high of only -26 C.
That's like, really frigging cold in Fahrenheit.