I passed my test last night, and now I'm an orange belt. Fruity. But I had to spar that little girl again. I'm going to ask the instructor not to make me do that any more. I really do feel like Goliath, and I don't think I'm learning how to fight better when I'm up against someone who maybe gets two punches in the entire match. Every time I'd sock her in the chest to shove her away to kicking distance, the whole room would gasp. I felt like The Meanest Girl In The World.

Co-Host Kim is fighting some kind of crazy flu-like disease, so I had to host the show by myself Tuesday night. This went fine, but people. My mouth is so going to get me fired. My first guests were a man and a woman who have parts in a play opening up this weekend. It's a rather risque production for this conservative area, so everyone was already in a kind of raunchy mood.

Me: "So, what parts do you two play?"

Actor Woman: "Well, I play the nice girl next door, who gets the guy in the end."

Actor Man: "I'm the guy who she gets in the end."

Me (absolutely before I can stop and censor myself): "Which end?"

I almost died. The resort rep who sits in on our shows actually gasped.

Speaking of plays, Neal and I are flying to Ohio the weekend after this coming one to check out my dad in his newest production. He's in drag most of the time. When he first landed the part, he asked the director if he would have to shave, and the director informed him that no, that's what the red tights are for.

I talked to my mom on the phone this morning, and she says he's getting empathetic with Females of the World. Like, how the hell can we wear stockings? (Well, I don't. But some women do, right?) They are SO uncomfortable. And he hates blush. And apparently there was great difficulty the other day when dad's earrings got caught in his wig. (Man, I never thought I'd type that sentence.)

I so can't wait to see this play.

Mom's going in today for emergency surgery on the port in her chest. It's infected. Mollie's driving her to and from the hospital, and I told her she better call me tonight. This happened once before, so I'm only mildly worried. Well, I'm worried a little more than usual, because Mom's energy has been low for the past few months, and she's really short of breath. I guess I'm just afraid that if anything should go wrong, she might someday just be too beat up from chemotherapy to recover like she has in the past.

She responds to treatment fantastically. But guess what? I'm pretty sure people aren't meant to be continually ravaged by cancer, radiation, and chemo for a freaking decade. So I worry. I hate when I worry. Worry is about one furrowed brow away from fear.

Man, how did this entry slide into Depressingville? Sorry about that. I'll keep you crazy kids posted on the surgery, so check back, okay? And as always, good toughts are appreciated.