I am appalled, channel guide summary writer."

"Batman battles a vicious criminal known as the Joker."

That's the summary for "The Dark Knight." Perhaps the greatest movie ever to be filmed, scored, edited, and created.

Perhaps the shittiest summary I've ever laid eyes on, too.

Excuse me, but saying, "Batman battles a vicious criminal known as the Joker," is like saying, "World War II was a skirmish between Germany's friends and the U.S. just so happened to get involved."

"The Dark Knight" is so much more complex than Batman vs. the Joker. At least give the movie another sentence.

Or just describe it like I would:

Watch this movie now. Even if you've seen it a hundred times, you haven't watched it enough.

Thanks, chicky movie, for making me stupider.

I love action movies. I love comedic movies. And if there's a movie that has both explosions and laughter, I'm all over it.

I'm also a female. Which means that I should like chick flicks.

Should.

I admit, there are a few that I'll consider good. But my all-time list of favorites doesn't contain a single chick movie.

Because most of them suck balls. Big, sweaty, buffalo balls.

The characters are weak and predictable. The story lines are weak and predictable. The endings are weak and predictable.

Seeing the pattern?

But they're tricky, too, these shitty feel-good, girly movies. A preview will show some powerful NY woman laughing with her friends, or getting into a funny brawl. And they make me think, "Hey, I would enjoy that."

But I know better. I will save my money. And then DVR the movie when my husband isn't home (since we already pay for satellite).

Then, I will watch the offending movie. And I'll get mad at the end. Because the movie is always bad, will always be bad. It's always lackluster and will always be lackluster. It's always a horrible (suicidal) way to kill ninety minutes (and myself).

Call me crazy, but I want to think.  I should refuse to watch anything from now on unless Chris Nolan is working on it.

Anyway, I haven't learned my lesson. I will continue to watch the chicky dicky sticky movies when no one's around.

Maybe I should wait until it's lady time. Perhaps I'll like them more.

Chicken breasts save human breasts?

As a vegetarian, this may come as a bit of a shock. But I'm not grossed out by the KFC Double Down.

I think tomatoes and lettuce sandwiched between two pieces of fried chicken isn't a bad idea. Because most people would eat two or three pieces of fried chicken without the added nutrition of sandwich fillings. So what's the harm of deleting buttery slices of bread (which, if you have read Chick-Fil-A's health info, is actually worse than the chicken).

But one thing KFC advertises that raises my eyebrow is their "Buckets for the Cure" campaign. Something like fifty cents goes to Susan G. Komen for the Cure for every greasy, most-likely-cancer-causing bucket of kentucky-fried chicken you purchase.

So you buy fried breasts, and then you theoretically save some breasts.

But eating fried chicken isn't healthy. So you must eat something bad to do something good?

Not that I'm anti breast cancer prevention and research, but perhaps KFC should focus on, I don't know, heart health? And perhaps stop selling chicken by the bucket?

Just a thought.

I'm sleeping alone.

The husband is out of town on business.

So the Queen has the bed all to herself for seven nights.

You know what sucks? Having a husband-less bed. You know what sucks worse? Having a husband-less bed for seven nights.

One night? Okay. Doable.

Two nights? Sure. It gets lonely, but not achingly so.

Three? That's pushing it. That's when the familiar smell of him starts to be overtaken by my shampoo.

But seven? Seven is a number of bad shit. Seven deadly sins. Seven years of bad luck. 7-11.

I should go to bed. But that Queen-size is looking really really big without my king in it.

The Queen is a little bitter.

The problem is that the Queen doesn't want to complain too much about the situation because she tries really hard to keep the personal life (and blog) separate from the professional life.

Granted, the two can't help but cross once in a while. But for the most part, names and specific situations are kept mum.

So the Queen is forced to sit and stew and is unable to vent in the written word on this blog. Like she so needs to do.

Should've worked a little harder at that anonymity thing.

Congratulations are in order.

I admittedly have no idea who (still) reads this blog.

But there's one person who (when we are lucky enough to see each other) never fails to tell me she still reads it. And she makes me feel awesome.

Well, that lucky lady and her love just had their first baby. And as the Queen of Awesome, I must say that having a little baby is pretty awesome.

Congrats, K. Your son is lovely (And I hope he eventually gives you the time to stop by the blog and read this!).