Woke up with the pain having migrated to the other side. At least it is giving my left eye a break, right? Because we have to look at the positives, right? My right eye is throbbing, but at least my left eye isn't.

I woke up wondering what had happened to that lady who spent many years in the bathroom. I assume you all did, too. Remember that story? The woman who sat on the toilet so long that it became one with her backside and had to be surgically removed? What happened to her? Is she able to walk, does she like life outside the bathroom, or does she want to go back to the trailer and sit back down?

That is the trouble with the American media, they don't update you on important stories like this, they just keep talking about politics and war.

I watched the performances on Wednesday night, and I didn't write anything down, but here's some general stuff. 

It was way better than the week before. I love Chelsea. I think she has ballet legs (and I think Jessica does, too) and I love to watch curvy girls with incredible ballet legs dance, I've decided. I was pretty sure Mark would be going home because even though the hip-hop routine was GREAT FUN, that foxtrot was painful to watch. I figured Comfort was a done deal. 

I didn't like Will's samba at all. It was exaggerated and goony and very unsexy, and when that little silver belt buckle bobbed up and down I just got grossed out. He is not a masculine dancer, despite his total masculine beauty. I am not talking about his sexuality, i don't know or care who he sleeps with.  I'm talking about his ability to convey masculinity in his dancing. And the voters respond very strongly to this aspect of the dancers, I think it's one reason Joshua is doing so well... if you think back to the Benji and Travis season, both those young men were exceptional partners to the girls. Regardless of Travis's desire to dance in drag and Benji's toothy Mormon ambisexual wholesomeness, they pulled it out when they were dancing. But Will just didn't bring the growl to his partnering, and he was with a very growlable girl, so he should have been able to do that. Didn't they even incorporate some kissing in the lyrical hip hop dance? And that just looked forced to me, they have been trying so hard to make us like him, to make him win, you know?

I liked the Twitch and Katee doorway dance, though I am not sure I would have liked it if I were Amy Winehouse. And not because my look had been coopted for the violently angry girlfriend who kept getting pitched and tossed around by the boyfriend, I'd be mad that they didn't even do the routine to one of my songs.  

Loved Joshua and Chelsea's tango, loved loved loved it. I hate disco routines, though, and theirs was no exception. Disco is never that fun for me to watch. The lifts are too hefty and there's always that part where the guy grabs the girl and starts slinging her around in a manner that strikes me as both undignified and dangerous. I hate that even more in ice skating because I've seen girls hit the ice. Even her neat little trick didn't save thsi move for me. And that final lift and drop they kept showing in order to praise it. I thought it looked dumb. 

So last night's results. I loved the dancing in the opening number but the costumes were kinda, I dunno, duct-tape looking? And I was watching all this through so much migraine that I wasn't really sharp on the uptake, and don't remember the solos, though I have a memory of being horrified by what WIll was doing, was he caressing the stairs? Was he making sweet dance love to the stairs? Was I hallucinating? 

I was surprised that Mark was safe, I really was. That foxtrot was painful to watch. One of the girls' friend pointed out that he is from Hawaii, and Hawaiians vote. Remember Jasmine Trias or however you spell it on AI? Her stamina was a testament to the massive voting power of our newest state. And they are behind Mark all the way. But something interesting was how upset all the girls were that Twitch was in danger of going home. It was TENSE in the TV room when the results were being announced, and everyone was so glad it was Will going home first. He's technically a better dancer than anyone else on there this season, but no one wanted him to stay. 

And then I went to bed to sleep through my brain scramble.

...and I don't know how I held up under that. 

I woke up yesterday with a sinus headache that bloomed into a full-on migraine yesterday evening. Sometimes I think I hold them at bay through sheer force of will, but I could feel it coming on because I was losing words. Just ask my temp. I honestly had no idea what would come out of my mouth when I spoke yesterday, but I managed to communicate and get through the day. Then I went to the bank and the pharmacy and the store and then home and I sat down on my bed and tried to write a little, but I can't write when i have a headache and it kept building and building, and then I knew I was in trouble because I started to yawn. Yawning followed by weeping eyes. Then my stomach started to complain and I knew it was all over. 

This means that I watched SYTYCD results through a massive screen of pain and tears, but I watched, by god. Because I have my priorities straight.

The migraine beat on through the night. I woke up several times and it had not ebbed. It is always best to sleep through the bulk of a migraine if you can manage that, and I rarely can. I usually tough it out, go to work, take barf breaks and keep my blinds closed because I'm so tired of having my life disrupted by these pointless, inexplicable headaches. But I slept through as much as possible of this one. It was mildly present at waking. But mostly I just have twinges, pain in my shoulder and neck, in my teeth, my sinus, behind my left eye. My left eye is so red and small. And my stomach is still killing me. 

I used to have these all the time, and I haven't been, and I know the problem is that I started drinking a half a cup of coffee (and sometimes a whole cup) about a month ago. This has reminded me why I quit, so I'm quitting again, and I hate it. I love coffee. I love it so much. But I hate migraines more, so, there you go. But I think I had better quit after the sales meeting as I think I need all the stimulation I can get over next week.

Next week. I am out of town for five days and not sure if I will bring my computer or not. Because we're having a remote sales meeting. With activities. And wardrobe expectations. A special t-shirt for the group photo. And just all kinds of fun. In eastern Oregon. In the heat. With the dry air. And I get to share a motel room with someone I don't really know. 

This is worse than Darfur.

...you all miss me more than you can say.

I have been working like a dog lately, and too stressed about this stupid project to even begin to talk about it, but luckily I have the most wonderful, helpful person ever coming in to help me with my sales meeting preparations this week. Yesterday she had to listen to me wrangle with the Difficult Situation, but I hope today was less horrible as far as the stream of Talking To coming out of my office. It was bad enough that the vendor called my boss's boss, crying, to get him to get me to relent. Which is its own kind of horrifying, but at least I know I was heard. And understood. And at least partially placated for the enormous fucking-over I've received at this vendor's hands.

It's been hard, people. Making vendors cry is not on my list of favorite things. But sometimes you have to.

So tonight I decided to go to writing time, to just sit and write and work on new writing and listen to Jonatha Brooke and enjoy random bits of conversation here and there when i was willing to pry the earbuds out and participate. I came home to give someone a ride somewhere, only to find out that I didn't have to do that because great big plans are being hatched in my living room. Yes, that's right. Plans. There is a dancestravaganza taking shape out there.

Youngest and four of her friends went around to each other's houses and assembled "dance outfits." They are working out choreography to "When I Grow Up" by the Pussycat Dolls. They plan to video it. I really don't know what to think, other than, my god these girls are such virgins. But that's a good thing, right?

The outfits are pretty hilarious. Youngest came in wearing gold lame shorts over black leggings and a black tube top. She rifled through my bra drawer and pulled out a leopard print item, what those of us in the industry call a "date bra." Her jaw dropped. "Mom, you rule." She has it on OVER the tube top.

I told them to knock it off by 11. 

We had fried catfish and jalapeno coleslaw beforehand.

So last night was the long-awaited Aimee Mann concert with Adrienne. I love Aimee Mann, based on the "Voices Carry" video in the eighties, the little video that spoke for a generation of young women being forced to function as trophy wives for Manhattan stockbrokers when what we REALLY wanted to do was stand up in the opera, tear off our chic dark wigs to expose the glory of our spiky blonde hair, and holler, "He said, shut up!" over the opera or whatever they were watching at the end of that video. Because we were going to be FREE, dammit.

Anyway.

What really tipped me with Aimee Mann was the Magnolia soundtrack, which as I have said, can function as the soundtrack for every woman's life. Her music is so poignant and cynical, so intelligent and melodious and strong, while it trudges along in an Eeyore-esque determination not to be, you know, too happy. The title of her newest CD, "&*!@% Smilers", might let you know what I'm talking about.

First, the show opened with Blind Pilot, a local band desperately in need of a few less musicians and a lot more musical cohesion. They can kick it out, but they need to figure out who they are. Once they do, I'd look for good things. Because they had everything (slide guitar, rhythm guitar, stand-up bass, two fiddlers, banjo, dulcimer, vibes, trumpet, drummer), once Aimee Mann came on, she kept saying, "I know we don't have a trumpet, but..." and jokes of the sort. "We don't have violins, but we have bongos. You're in for a real treat now."

Actually, we were. Her newest record is heavy on keyboards. so she had two keyboard players onstage, and there were times when her bassist put down his axe, yo (watch the old lady break out the musical slang as she is cool and all) and played the keyboards as well. She did mostly new stuff, except for a point when she said, "I've been doing new stuff. And maybe you're not familiar with the new stuff. Maybe you're thinking, do something I fucking know." So then she did some stuff from Magnolia, to great audience reaction. I'd give you a playlist but I was there with A, not Brother Steve, and Brother Steve is the man who carefully jots down the playlist. So yeah, she did lots of good new stuff and an lots of good old stuff, though she didn't do "Til Tuesday!" which is what someone behind me squealed out (that's the name of the old band, sweetheart, but you weren't alive then so I don't blame you).

Audience highlights included an incredibly skinny, somewhat odd man in a kilt who sat next to me. He had a tendency to slam himself back in his seat really hard, which was annoying. He was agitated and blew air out through his nose so hard that it blew down my arm, which was a creepy feeling. I made up a big story in my head about him being Scottish and isn't Mann a Scottish name and maybe his name is Mann and he was there to stalk her because they are of the same sept of the same clan! Also, there was a lady there with a fanny pack of such size, complexity and thorough stocking that I am sure she could have lived from it for a week in the wilderness. Other than that, everyone was like me and A, happy to see this wonderful musician.

She taught us a new word last night. "Douchey." As in, "I know it's kind of douchey to wear my own t-shirt onstage, huh."

Aimee Mann is not douchey. She's lovely and awkward, she's a tall blonde mosquito, she is superior in talent and intelligence. She has the voice she has, it's not what you'd call operatic or anything, but she coaxes so much emotion and range out of it, she works that voice to such a beautiful degree. Okay, enough with my fannishness.

I was reading about some of the records I don't own on her website, and I think I have to get more. http://www.aimeemann.com/index.php

Adrienne is off with other friends today and I am home with girlies to do Sunday stuff, which includes helping myself to a massive amount of music from her portable hard drive. I just made breakfast, and I have to think about Sunday dinner!

http://www.tmz.com/2008/07/18/cristiano-ronaldo-rico-suave/

I love the caption.

Can you imagine the perfection of this young man's life? Like Richie Rich with sex.

Rather than Hancock, I saw this with Jay last night. And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

I've figured out that I've been dating Abes, and I need me a Hellboy.

T=Abe     M=Hellboy

 It was pointed out to me that having my kids' photos as icons for posts about them was probaby a stupid idea and an invasion of their privacy. I agree, so I have searched out some sweet photos of biracial girls and made some 'daughters' icons. None of these are my kids, because for one thing, my kids are 25, 22 and 18. But they are still my kids to me, they are still the girls, and these photos capture something about the little girls they were. 

But I'd like to point out that if you're going to so a Google image search for "biracial girl." it's best if you have your Safe Search filters ON,  thankyouverymuch.

Two crazy crappy things happened to two out of three of my kids on Tuesday. Middle lost her laptop, iPod touch, and the special backpack that zips onto the front of her special super-expensive suitcase to a burglar. And then that night, Youngest face-planted. And I mean seriously, to where her mouth was split in three places and swollen out at least two inches from her face, with big ugly down-to-the-yellow-layer-of-dermis scrapes under and on her nose. And a little piece of gravel in one tooth, so we have a dentist visit coming up.

I didn't see it Tuesday night because I was at Eddie Izzard and they hadn't wanted to wreck my fun time by telling me. So after being carefully prepared over the phone, I came home from work to survey the damage and just sat next to her on the loveseat and looked at her face, tears in my eyes. I couldn't stand to look at the wreck of my baby's face and I couldn't stand not to. I just stayed there with her, patting her, and wishing I were like Superman and I could go fly around the world backwards and reverse time, and have Middle Daughter's roommate lock the door so the opportunistic meth head didn't dash and grab the apartment, and so that Youngest would have worn different shoes.

My mom senses are all riled up. I feel like parenthood is standing by while crappy things happen to your kids and you can't do anything about it, until you die. But of course it's a lot more and a lot better than that, I'm just inflamed with protectiveness right now.

So friends are having an early b-day party for Oldest, and she asked could i give her a ride over there. I said, sure, and then I did something I shouldn't have. I asked her to be careful because such incredibly crappy things had happened to her sisters. And I felt very, very paranoid and I was sorry but please take care tonight. And she said, "God, now I'M paranoid!" I don't need to do this to her, why did I do this to her?

So I wrapped her up in bubble wrap and tissue paper and carried her in my arms over to her friends' house, and set her down on a bed of helium balloons and padded her with bunting and let her out of my sight. She is twenty-five years old and I am ridiculous. And Middle is checking the pawnshops and I think my insurance might cover replacement, though probably not. And Youngest's face is remarkably better today, it really is, the swelling is mostly gone and all that's left are scrapes and bruises. Youth heals and it heals fast.

But oh for a world in which youth was never hurt at all.

It's chilly outside. I hardly know what to do. I don't have on enough clothes. I am a wardrobe fatalist, the weather changes, I find a new way to dress as if to say, "Well, that's it. I guess I have to dress like THIS every single day for the rest of my LIFE." As a result, I am feeling naked before the cloudy skies and cool breezes of this day.

I keep thinking, I could have worn boots today.

I'm trying to make some lifestyle changes, but all I really seem to do is change shoes. I am trying to come to terms with the fact that every single thing in our society is on the verge of change. We've organized our lives a certain way since the end of WWII. I know that's not that long ago but it's as far back as any of us can remember, and only because our parents or our grandparents told us about it.  And life has been organized like this: there is a city, where the white collar people work. There is a suburb, where the family lives. There is a car, used to get from one place to the other. And there is a bank account, with which one can pay for the gas in the car.

This is all going to change.

So I think, maybe we'll all start riding horses again. Except I can't wear cowboy boots. Even if my hefty milkmaid calves were to fit in a pair, cowboy boots hurt my toes and my back. I am back to shoes, I am interpreting societal change in terms of how I will change my shoes.

Luther Vandross. Journey. Celine Dion.
We are wondering where they assembled the songs for this evening's show. Maybe the cassette tape bin at the Dollar Store? And the final WIll/Katiee routine where he pranced in tight cutoffs and she danced in a popsicle-stained Onesie? Do not GET it. A technically impossible routine, the song was David Archuleta and it was strange.

Most routines left me distinctly underwhelmed with the exceptions of the mad scientist routine with Joshua and Courtney (and it was him I liked), Twitch and Comfort's hip hop (but what were they wearing? he had on a mirrored girl scout sash over a Hypercolor teeshirt and I swear her makeup looked like a jellical cat),  and the two routines with Chelsea and Gev.

I love Mark. I thought he was even great in that Center Stage derived routine. He's creepy and wonderful.

DANCE!

Did you hear Cat say that tomorrow night will be a GROUP BOLLYWOOD?! Well, she did.

I missed the premiere of Project Runway. Boo hoo. But I'll find a repeat.

...he's going to Spain. This will be an occasion for massive bitterness on the part of UK football fans, who only liked him grudgingly in the first place. It's going to be ugly. It might be fun. But mostly it's going to be ugly. 

Eddie Izzard includes so much about God in his act, poking fun at the whole lovely absurd idea of it, that I left the show thinking and laughing, too jazzed up to go right to sleep. So I stayed up until wee hours and finished Children of God.  I AM FINALLY DONE. I don't have to open my mind to any more new characters, though of course the introduction of new characters continues through the last PAGE of this book.

Okay, everyone is right. This is not as good as The Sparrow. The task she set for herself in this book was huge, and she did what she needed to do, which was to tell a story of revolution and reconciliation. But to do that, she had to...

It's not a good sign when it takes me a month to finish reading a book. It generally means that I've taken breaks to read other books (I have read at least one, it was called Such a Pretty Fat and it was so funny in some places but too bloggish in others).  I'm still not finished with Children of God, which upsets me because in places, this is one of the most amazing things I've ever read. The brilliance of what she's done, here, the revolution, the social anthropology, and her sheer gift with description. There is one line when a man (well, an alien male) is about to kill another man and she speaks of the rapist's intimacy with the small sounds of his victim's body. It made my heart stop. But the structure is so difficult and the characters so many and the story so vast and it's taken the whole goddamned book for Emilio to land. At this point I hardly know what to care about. The Ja'anata are headed off to get their own foreigner, and I'm thinking, if they nab Emilio, which of course they are going to, I'm going to kill someone. 

YOU CAN'T HAVE ALL THE BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO JUST ONE PERSON. IT'S NOT FAIR, MARY DORIA RUSSELL.

 When you get a flip phone with a big display screen, no one warns you that you're going to have to look at the thing through a scrim of ear grease all the time. Unless you clean it compulsively.

Yuck.

It's been so hot here for days and days, and every day I'm home I keep putting on the same thing: black capri pants, a black cami and these black shoes that cost 80 bucks but are no more than ergonomically designed flipflops. I call this my Ninja Mom outfit.  

Tonight I will not wear that because I am seeing some friends for drinks and then we are going to go see Eddie Izzard. He is piss my pants funny, and it's going to be hot, so I am wearing just the astronaut diaper to the show. And a necklace. It's a good look for me. 

In my tailspin of anxiety and panic over my sister, I kind of shut down last week. The only thing I did was quick dinner with Jay on Sunday night. Ninja style! I think I'm going to see Hancock on Friday (do not spoil this movie for me, you people), and then on Saturday, I am going to see Aimee Mann with the Divine Miss A. 

I made my sister go stay with a friend over the weekend, while I recovered my delicate equilibrium. I am such a dainty, delicate flower of a woman, emotionally at least, and I needed to heal from all the invasion of my space, both physical and emotional. I spent the weekend trembling like a lotus blossom in the breeze, and now she's back, and the exit plan is in place, though not with a specific date, I need a date, I want a SPECIFIC CALENDAR DATE for this exit. I will insist upon a date tomorrow, when next I see her. 

I have been asked to be an Amazon Vine reviewer. It means I get free stuff. What do you think of this? Am I going to like it? Or am I not going to want to bother with it?