I Shaved My Legs This Morning

I just shaved my legs (keep it down, yeah yeah, everyone's a critic) and I realized what a drag it is to be white. Especially this time of year. Especially in a cold climate. I am SO white that I'm almost translucent. Do people of colours other than pasty go through this?

Doctors are always saying it's no good to get a tan anymore so that means a lifetime of see-through skin. At least I don't have to worry about X-rays.

"Remarkable how the Caucasian-ness of this patient saves money on expensive procedures. Look, there's her gallstones. And her colon – mother of all that is holy, does she ever eat a lot of fibre! And, oh wow, she's pregnant! And it's TWINS! Oh, sorry. False alarm. It's just her mammary glands hanging at navel level. Can someone hook this poor woman up with Bob in plastic surgery?"

And here's the thing about leg hair. There's enough of it to look really gross but not enough to disguise varicose veins.

God hates me.

Oscar indecision and I-love-Jennifer-Lawrence

I can't decide! I can't, I can't, I really, really can't.

Is it Silver Linings Playbook with Bradley Cooper in his open-at-the-throat tailored white shirt, cleaned up like a new jar of Javex and dancing like a Man, gawd help me, but you know what I mean, girls? Oh and Jennifer Lawrence, who deserves Best Actress just because of her eyes. Her eyes! So much goes on with a simple look, and you wanna be like her and you wanna be with her, but not like that, but maybe ... maybe when she talks about the girls in her office ... sorry, I digressed, but she was so fecking GOOD. I laughed and I cried and I laughed so more, then cried when Robert DeNiro was crying and his voice was all squirrelly, so high-tuned and pitchy that I thought Simon Cowell was gonna call him out. Lately De Niro has been nothing more than a caricature of his own De Niro-ness, but he pulls something gut wrenching and real out of his ... well, his gut, but who cares, because it's all about Lawrence and Cooper, but mostly Lawrence, who I think I am in love with. (Sorry, Dave, I'm just weird that way.)

Dave and I pledged to see every movie nominated for Best Picture at this year's Oscars. So far this has been the best movie-move we've ever made. For the last month or so we've seen nothing but GREAT movies and it's been awesome. No stupid comedies with Adam Sandler or Will Fecking Ferrell. No quirkless unimaginative odysseys, or actionless action movies where the best thing about 'em was the popcorn. Not that I don't like those movies sometimes, but sweet, geezly glory it's been simply FINE watching quality moving-pictures all in a row like that!

Trouble is, I cannot decide which one I like best! I just CAIN'T.

Saw Silver Linings tonight. Just got home (popcorn and Diet Coke still rancid on my breath). So right now, right at this moment, I think it's gawd's gift to Rom-Com-Droms.

However, last week we saw Zero Dark Thirty. Wasn't prepared to like that one at all but damned if I didn't fall in love with it long before the Twizzlers were gone. But I have no fecking idea what the title is supposed to mean. (Do you?) Jessica Chastain was some kinda wunnerful, she was. Fell in love at first sight when she played Lil Mizz Kooky in The Help but she was a cucumber kind of customer in the Zero Dark thing, completely different, and what the hell did she do to her boobs? Like Elvis they just left the building!

Now don't you worry, I'm not launching into a big ol review of all the movies we've seen. I just want to say I loved ALL of 'em, for all different reasons.

Life of Pi  *swoons* was the most beautiful movie I think I've ever seen. See it in 3D. Worth it. Suraj Sharma was robbed. He should have been nominated for Best Actor.

Argo? Phenomenal. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. Ben Affleck, who I had written off a long time ago, was a big old jar of awesome sauce.

Lincoln was merely OK, probably because I was all hyped up to see it and when you're all hyped up, disappointment is sure to follow. I wanted it to be better, you know? But it wasn't. I actually had a much better time watching Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Well, maybe that's not true. (Yes it is.) Lincoln is worth seeing, for sure – it was just my least favourite of all the movies I've seen so far. But that's just me, being all Honest Abe about it.

Ladies, you want a new stud muffin to admire? Ya gotta see Jamie Foxx in Django Unchained. I know, I know, you're thinking WHO? Hey, I was never a great fan of Monsieur Foxx until Quentin Tarantino got a hold of him but now he's my favourite action hero of all time. Yep, even more than Jason Statham, Matt Damon and Bruce Willis combined. He ROCKED this movie. Sexy, strong, violent – whooo-weeeeeeee, when he rode that horse bareback at the end I was feeling those equine muscles ripple under my tender thighs! This is one mighty fine movie. It's hilarious, it's bloody (I love how bullets explode with freshets of blood!), it's Pulp Fiction meets The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. Christoph Waltz, the bad Nazi dude in Inglorious Basterds, was awesome in Django. Just as good as Foxx, but for different reasons. (The tooth on top of the wagon slayed me.)

I haven't seen Les Misérables, Amour or Beasts of the Southern Wild and, because we live in a small town without fancy-pants obscure theatre outlets, chances are slim to none that we'll get a chance. Still, we are having a BLAST seeing all these phenomenal flicks leading up to the big night.

I just wish I could DECIDE!

So tell me, what movie do you think should win?

Allow me to Re-introduce myself ...

Hi! My name is Cathy Olliffe-Webster and I have two last names because I'm a Libra and couldn't make a decision. I'm a fat, middle-aged, screwed up woman who has big dreams but is mired in mediocrity and laziness. I have very little hair on my head but my legs look like they belong on a goat. Despite this I am a sex goddess who managed to snag a hunka burning lust who is eight years younger than me as Husband #2, after Husband #1 disgarded me in favour of a skinny-assed cashier who knew enough to have hair in the politically correct portions of one's anatomy. My youngest son still loves me but I am worried that since he is teetering on the abyss of teenagehood that he will soon abandon me, as his older brother has already done, in favour of hormonally induced necking, pizza-sized hickeys and pierced ear holes big enough for Volkswagens to drive through. I am good at my job, although I used to be great – time and technology are starting to pass me by and I am now one of those office dinosaurs: too young to retire but too old and useless to compete with fecking 12-year-olds who invaded the building like fecking tech-savvy roaches when I wasn't looking. I USED TO BE ONE OF THOSE ROACHES... now I'm the old fart. How the feck did that happen????? Oh, and I say feck a lot.

That's me! Who the feck are you?

If you'd like to reintroduce yourself to the world you can sign up for today's Re-Introduce Myself Blogfest, hosted by Stephen Tremp and his cohorts. Sign up, make the rounds, and make sure you pick up one of those name tags to stick on your boob. (Not that boob, the one on your chest. Geez...)

The Fart

While my family may fart with abandon at home, my office is a dignified place where no farting (at least no audible farting) goes on.

So you can imagine my chagrin this morning when I coughed extra hard and blew a substantial toot out my hind end, the kind of toot a tuba player might be proud of.

Oh feck, I thought, hoping against hope that the hack-hack noise of my cough camouflaged the barrumph noise emanating from the vicinity of my chair.

I looked around to see if anyone noticed. All heads were bowed to their computers, noses to the grindstone.

Whew. Looked like the old cough/fart combo fooled 'em once again.

Then I smelled what I had dealt.

Oh feck, feck, feck. I started to laugh, couldn't help it. People lifted their faces to see what I was laughing about but I pretended I wasn't laughing, "don't mind me, just having a seizure," so they went back to work.

Vastly relieved, I decided to pre-empt further embarrassment. I took a cold-and-cough pill and practiced squeezing my butt cheeks together. Squeeze, release, squeeze release, three more, two more.

My sister used to have a horse that farted every time he coughed. She had him put down.

Note to self: don't fart around sister.

The hottest guy on the planet

Wanna know who makes my heart beat faster? Who the hottest guy in the world is (next to my own Dave, of course).

Well he's no boy, I'll tell ya that. No girly boy. No fresh-out-his-diddies with washboard abs. No Zac Efron, Taylor Lautner, Robert Pattinson, nuh-uh. Not even some of the slightly older beefcakes like Hugh Jackman, Brad Pitt, or Jason Statham. (Ok, so I do have a slight thing for Jason Statham, but it's just a little thing.)

I guess it's just because I'm getting older but it's the real men of the world who stop my clock.

And you wanna know who's stopping that clock right now?

Ready ladies? I'm not kidding, here. This guy knows who he is. He's got more swagger than any George Clooney. He makes my mouth water and my temperature rise.

See if he doesn't do the same for you.

Start running a cold shower because you just might need it ...