Happy Happy Joy Joy, Part IV

Made it to VCCA! Made it to VCCA! Made it to VCCA!

Countdown to Sanity — Only Two More Days!

Horoscope of the day says: Make time to touch base with the dear ones in your life.

Self is sooo glad she didn’t read that until day was practically over.

Phone preternaturally silent all day. After brief glimpse of DM in tight-fitting red blouse yesterday (only a brief glimpse, as she practically banged door shut in our faces after we handed her items she had left behind at our house during mother of all barbecues), had been wondering if anything was up.

Self is always the last to know about stuff. Today, attempted to suppress rambling conjecture and kept busy with much-needed grading. But, towards five, curiosity got the better of self, called Tita who works at travel agency: How was brunch yesterday at Mimi’s?

Tita rattles on, about how good the food was (har har!), how “everybody” was there: Fave Tito and Fave Tita, all their kids, their grandkids, etc. (reason # 2 for being sooo glad was not there), AND, the real clincher, even Stanford niece! Who miraculously made it there at 11 AM even though she’d just arrived from the Dominican Republic at 4 AM! And probably had eyebags as big as a house!

After this very illuminating conversation, went on to teach evening Women’s Lit class. Unfortunately class not as into Marguerite Duras as self. Decided to show parts of movie The Lover. Class very into Tony Leung and his tight butt.

Dismissed everyone early. On long lonely walk back to car, opened cell phone, and — four messages! Wonder who from? OK, first one’s from Mum, very excited: G (niece) is free for dinner tonight! Could you pick her up and bring her to Daly City?

Second message: Hi! Where are you? I want to see G! Can you pick her up?

Third message (peevish): Where ARE you? I need to see G!

Fourth message (cold, abrupt): I HATE your message machine!

So, there begins usual carousel of calls (not even taking time to put on my coat, so will likely catch cold): to Fave Tito (Nope, Dearest Mum not there), Friend of Mum’s (Nope, last saw her 6 PM), to Other Tita (doesn’t pick up; never does, why does self even bother to call), and finally to some other Tito’s cell, whereupon hear Dearest Mum’s voice in the background, trilling away happily.

Phone handed to Dearest Mum. “Come over and join us!” she giggles. “G is here! We’re having drinks at The Left Bank.”

“I was in class,” I say, not meaning to sound so depressed. “I teach until 9.”

“Oh, I know,” says Dearest Mum sweetly (obviously had much to imbibe), “It’s such a hard life for you —”

Aaargh!!! Aaaargh!!! Aaaaargh!!!

Drive home seems to take forever. At least, full moon is shining over the Belmont hills.

Hubby is on the couch in front of TV (of course). “You’ve got to see THIS!” he says. It’s a movie called Slither. “It’s really funny!”

“Oh, you mean like Tremors?” I say. There was a time when Tremors was my favorite movie of all time.

“Yeah,” hubby says.

First there’s a weird-looking horned creature running across a field, and a blonde girl (the nympho from Forty-Year-Old Virgin) chasing.

“That’s her husband,” hubby says.

“Who? That guy?” self says, indicating state trooper following blonde girl.

“No, that weird creature! Only he ate something!”

“Oh,” self says.

OK, next we’re face to face with slimy horned creature, who blonde girl addresses as “Grant” (pretty funny, as creature has pimples all over his face, gnashing teeth, and horns) and blonde girl is telling him “You’re sick. But I’ll stick with you through thick and thin. Because that’s what marriage is.”

Next we’re in a barn, and there’s an enormously fat woman (no, not fat — humongous) lodged between barn stalls, confessing ravenous hunger, asking to be fed opossum. In a few minutes, she blows up, releasing many slimy wormy things that then crawl into mouths of state troopers (in fact, into everyone’s mouth except for cute blonde and the cutest of the state troopers).

Next scene: House. Girl taking a bath. Wouldn’t you know, this is exactly where one of those slimy wormy things ends up — IN the bathtub, between girl’s legs. Har, har, har!

Next it’s crawling into her mouth — har, har, har!

Hubby explains: “It came from outer space!”

No question, I’d rather be at home, watching Slither, than imbibing Cosmopolitans at The Left Bank with Dearest Mum and niece . . .

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