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I’m going through a very rough patch with my mom right now. She and I have always had a close, but very rocky relationship. Without spewing too much personal stuff, I’ve always felt that she had boundary issues that were only made worse when I got together with the husband and had the baby like five minutes after saying, “Yeah, sure, we can hang out or whatever,” to him.

I honestly feel that it’s way beyond the normal, “My mom is a pain in my ass,” stuff. Someone told me last night that I look bad in the situation, like I’m just being mean to my mom because I’m a nasty person, and that really sucks. I think what everyone is seeing is that I never stand up for myself, so when I do, I look like a humongous bitch. Or maybe I just let things go too long and when I finally do say something, I can’t help but explode.

In any case, something drastic has to happen, or else I’m moving to a little cabin in the mountains or some shit.

In less emo news, my co-worker is going through a break-up, which has allowed me to tap into one of my favorite “genres” of music…break-up songs. Some of my favorites: “Not Gon Cry” by Mary J. Blige, “There You Go” by P!nk, and “Song for the Dumped” by Ben Folds Five. Yours?

re: Angela’s MamaPop post

me: “The band’s Web site, www.nkotb.com, which had been dormant, is now back up and running”
new kids on the block had a website?!?!?!?

Angela: EXACTLY

me: dude, if they tour, we’re so going
i mean, my god, it’s been 15 years since i was last at a new kids concert
I THINK I’M DUE

Then I wondered what that puddle was around my feet and then I realized, “Oh! That’s my youth…and maybe my dignity mixed in there.”

But then later I heard that it was all a rumor, so whatever.

(The following post is brought to you by my fatigued and disjointed brain.)

I didn’t get around to posting yesterday, but it was the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. Happy Choice, ladies! *raises glass*

The Oscar nominations have been out for only a day, and already I’ve lost money on them. On our way home from the movies Saturday night, post-There Will Be Blood and pre-barffest, we were talking about how Daniel Day-Lewis has GOT to be a shoo-in for Best Actor this year, especially since he didn’t win for Gangs of New York and that’s kind of how the Oscars roll (see also: Washington, Denzel). And I started whining about Sweeney Todd, which I really did not like, and said that I bet it would win Best Picture because stupid shit like that happens all the time. The husband disagreed and we bet $5 on it.

Well, Sweeney Todd wasn’t even nominated. But I put another $5 down on both Johnny Depp winning Best Actor and Atonement winning Best Picture, because even though the latter looks like a boring pile of The English Patient leftovers, sweeping period romances tend to fare well. The husband thinks the Coen brothers are going to win big. I hope they do, but I have serious doubts.

I really suck at gambling.

I do think Javier Bardem is going to win Best Supporting Actor, and rightly so because he was amazing. And I will hump the TV during his acceptance speech because I lurve him, despite his frighteningly large cabeza (see also: the husband’s head).

Dave Eggers is coming to my school’s Visiting Writers Series in a few days and all I can think of is this one great line from Californication, which went something like, “It could be a piece of shit or a heartbreaking work of staggering genius…There’s a difference?”

I tried to watch Smokin’ Aces last night and it was one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. I actually managed to sit through a whole hour before giving up on it.

I know it’s stupid, but I’m really bummed about Heath Ledger. I guess I’m thinking of his daughter. That’s got to be so confusing for a little kid that age. You see Daddy all the time, and then suddenly you don’t.

What would make the whole campaign really wonderful is if, after the big reveal, somebody (Dr. Phil, Tom Cruise, me, whoever) came out and said to dudes like this, “Now don’t you feel bad for freaking out at the guy who makes minimum wage at Burger King because they didn’t have the shit-tastic sandwich that you wanted? Think maybe you could go get a life now and maybe put your indignation to use in matters that are a tad more pressing? In the meantime, here’s your Whopper and have fun trying to shit that out later.”

I make with the writing at MamaPop. Today, I threw my Lasso of Pissiness* around Clay Aiken.

I’m telling you this because you need to go visit that site ON THE REGULAR. Ya heard?

*It’s like Wonder Woman’s Golden Lasso. ‘Cept it’s made out of angst.

Edited 10:14 p.m.: Uh, I wrote this at like 5:30 and apparently didn’t hit “publish.” Dur.

So, I feel a little foolish for posting to MamaPop yesterday about how excited I was to see There Will Be Blood tonight.

Because There Will Be Blood isn’t playing here yet. I’m not sure how I got the notion that it would be…maybe it had something to do with the fact that the limited release was all the way back on December twentyfuckingsixth.

But thank christ that National Treasure 2 is playing…right smack dab in the middle of Oscar rush and hogging all of the screens so I can’t see something actually worth my $10.

Don’t get me wrong. I love corny action movies as much as the next dude. But can a girl get some Daniel Day-Lewis sometimes? Shit.

I was just sitting here and decided I wanted to listen to Untrue because it’s amazing. So Windows Media Player opens up and I went to go back to my other program and hit “Enter” or something, I don’t know. Anyway, I accidentally maximized the “visualization” so my screen was filled with this psychedelic swirly stuff as “Archangel” started playing.

I became totally mesmerized and stared at the screen slack-jawed for a good minute before my phone rang, snapping me out of it.

And I wonder why I can’t get my driver’s license. Well, this kind of behavior and the fact that I can’t parallel park.

So, the Steelers lost last night, ending a rather tumultuous season. But what an exciting game! Indeed, it is frustrating to see how the team’s collective insecurity prevents them from soldiering through. It’s like they don’t think they can beat a team if they’re not completely crushing them, when they so can. As soon as their opponents put up a fight, they get shaky. But they rallied in the fourth quarter and even though the outcome wasn’t as great as it could have been, it was fun to watch.

I will admit to being a tad relieved about not having to stress through games anymore. I’m certain I gained a few gray hairs during the Super Bowl a few years back and last night, as I tried to get my hands to stop shaking, I thought, “Yeah, I don’t miss this.”

Anyway, psychotic football fangirl crap aside, the final season of The Wire premieres tonight. I’ve been anticipating and dreading this day for a year and a half. I can’t wait to see how hard this season is going to rock but I’m extremely sad that in ten weeks it will all be over.

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that The Wire is the best show ever. Sure, the writing is incredible, the acting is all amazing…all of those basic criteria are blown out of the water. But what makes it really wonderful is it’s simple statement of the world that we live in, how we have all failed, how we try to succeed. In this fantastic article, actor/director Clark Johnson says, “You don’t want to preach to people, but you want them to think about why things are the way they are, the history that is there as well as the possibilities.” The show certainly offers up its own ideas of how things got to where they are and what would need to happen if things are ever to change, but it does it carefully enough that the viewers are able to consider those possibilities and still develop their own opinions about it. The folks behind The Wire and the people and situations it portrays may not agree with other assessments, but through the show they are heard and considered, which is saying a hell of a lot more than most “dialogues” about the current state of affairs.

This season focuses on the media, which should be of interest to everyone. Considering what a sad, sad state the media is in today, when we need it more than ever, I don’t know how we can’t watch art like this.

At the very least, consider the fact that the man who took this image:

took this image 35 years later, to the day:

Frighteningly similar political climates between then and now. But in those days the biggest image of the year was of the horrors of our foreign war. Last year the biggest image was of a perpetual child in grief over being punished.

Perhaps this year we can start giving a shit.

You know what’s kind of frightening? Slipping and falling in the shower. I know because I just did it. I stepped weirdly, I guess, and then my feet were doing this tap dance of panic and then down I went. I remember thinking, “I hope I don’t break my neck or become otherwise incapacitated, especially since I’m home alone. Then I’ll have to lay in the shower whimpering until someone comes home and finds me naked and with extremely pruney fingers and toes.”

Luckily, I managed to only bump my knee. But Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman are now making Walter Matthau/Jack Lemmon-esque old man movies about squeezing the most out of life. That’s kind of depressing to me.

I am so all about this. And I want to help spearhead the movement.

Admittedly, I need to work on my putdowns. My most biting criticism of late was uttered the other night during a discussion of Joe Francis’ “success” with the Girls Gone Wild franchise: “Any woman who shows her boobs to a camera for free is a fucking idiot.”