The Courier-Journal has a big mugshot of me in it today. Unfortunately, the picture really looks like me. Nobody re-touched it to make me look like Pam Anderson. Shit!

Doubly unfortunately, in the side-bar, they list me as having two kids. So, now I’m straining to recall where I left the other kid, because I only remember having the one. Double shit!

Update: The Courier-Journal article got linked on Fark. Booha! If I had known I was gonna make Fark, I’d have shown my boobs.

The shot I took of the photographer:

Both my daughter and my husband are more than happy to ignore me most of the time. My daughter has her friends and my husband has his computer. They don’t need me…

…unless I’m on the toilet.

…unless I’m taking a relaxing bath.

…unless I’m trying with some difficulty to concentrate on something else.

On these occasions, they can’t possibly be expected to wait five minutes to ask me what they gotta ask me or tell me what they gotta tell me.

My daughter frequently knocks on the bathroom door while I am in the middle of moving my bowels. I perform this exercise in a very lady-like manner, of course - yet this is a moment where a person appreciates a modicum of privacy. The quiet dignity that befits someone on a throne.

Yeah, well, in another life perhaps I will have gained enough bathroom karma coupons to enjoy a private poop. Anyone got any of these to trade? I have Chuck E. Cheese tokens. Takers?

True story: I’m sitting on the toilet quiet dignity etc. etc. when my daughter Charlotte yells through the door, “Mom!”

“Yeah.” (I have to answer or they’ll have the fire department break down the door. Of this, I am certain.)

“I just remembered I have a field trip tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“You have to sign the permission slip.”

“Alright. But can it wait? I have toilet paper in one hand. If you put a permission slip in the other, I might get confused and wipe on the wrong thing.”

“K.”

My husband’s urgent business is usually relating to some sci-fi movie or other that’s due to come out in three weeks but that he’s really excited about now and which he must explain to me in great detail while I’m in the restroom with the door closed. They key word in that last sentence is “closed.” I do not have an open door policy on this issue. I want my husband and daughter to rejoice in each other’s company during these brief moments when I am otherwise disposed. To be happy and healthy and to watch TV and eat ice cream or play games on the Internet. To do all of these things while leaving me alone.

I love them dearly and wouldn’t trade my life with them for anything. I honestly wouldn’t. That said, I’ll pay you $3000 to kidnap them both so I can take a private dump.

Note: If you are reading my blog for the first time today, please feel free to stay for a while. I love company. Most of the time. When you do move on, check out the good folks on my blogroll. They love company too.

I’ve been doing so very little in recent months that my husband makes arrangements to have me cremated at least once a week. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he’ll notice a slight movement in my toe or something, and he whispers into the phone to the funeral director, “Icksnay on the urningbay. She’s still alive.”

But, guess what? They are coming to take my picture today for a feature story in The Courier-Journal about local bloggers. And, I do have a blog. So there!

For those of you who said I’d never amount to anything…well, you were right. But, I’m still getting my picture in the paper, and you aren’t. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah.

We were not in the theater to see “Revenge of the Sith” on the weekend it opened. I wasn’t feeling well, and rather than drag me anyway, Michael suggested we wait and see it some other time. As a result, he was shamed by his fellow geeks at work and now feels somewhat less of a man. At least he wasn’t banished. I hear you can get banished from the Secret Order of the Geeks for a grievous offense like that.

Speaking of Grievous, General Grievous has a Hamster Wheel of Death and that makes everything alright. I’m trying to get a song together with that idea as the main thrust, but it’s not coming together the way I want it to. I’d like the song to have kind of a retro Monkee’s feel to it, but I can’t decide where to put the “hey hey”s or the “no no no”s. Also, not much rhymes with Grievous.

My songstressing woes aside, I must admit that I liked the movie overall, because gadgets never fail to impress me. And, although Grievous met his death because he was a clumsy oaf, he had FOUR lightsabers, which you must admit is quite something. Four lightsabers! Can you imagine the time you could save making a salad if you had some mad utensils like that?

Also, I gotta give Lucas many props on killing Padme. Good call. The only way to improve on that would be to clone her and then promptly kill her again. Could she have possibly been more bland even if they had poured her out of a white box labeled “BLAND” in large black capital letters? I’m not talking about hotness here. Amazingly, she is both incredibly hot and incredibly bland at the same time. It’s unsettling. Yet, I can almost hear the discussion that must have taken place in order for this miracle of duality to happen. “We have this hot actress, let’s give her some lines that convey a personality of some sort. We did that with Carrie Fischer. We could do it again.” Then some slug chimes in with, “No, ’cause if we do that, we have to make Samuel L. Jackson’s character likeable too. It’s too much trouble. Nah, let’s just dress her up.”

So, they dressed her up and then killed her and that makes everything alright. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I would normally close there, because “yeah, yeah, yeah” is such a good way to end a train of thought. But, we have to talk about Vader. Specificically, the scene where they put Anakin in his Vader gear for the first time.

One word: “Spaceballs.”

The helmet is too big! Or, is the head too small? Either way, putting the big helmet on and then doing the burnt Sith walk was comic gold.

My husband explained to me - rather condescendingly, I might add - that Anakin is badly burnt in the scene and is trying to get used to the new gear. Well, DUH. (Notice how I revert into a ten year old child when I get defensive? That’s just one of my many charms.) But, in my never humble opinion, where Lucas was trying to convey the horror of Frankenstein, he got Dark Helmet instead.

Nobody has to agree with me. At least not yet. (I’m having a hard time getting that bill passed for some strange reason.)

May the scwartz be with you. Yeah, yeah, yeah.