Today was quite a day. I am going to write it all down. I like writing "quite a day"s down because then I don't have to go to the trouble of remembering them.
First of all.
If ever you are presented with the opportunity, AGREE AT ONCE to house-sit for Bo and Jan.
When I arrived yesterday after camp, it was to find a novel to read, a brand new electric-orange loofah, three tank tops for me to have, and three giant smutty magazines with kittens on the covers.
Also an economy-sized basin of hummuth in the refrigerator that is spinach/artichoke flavored.
I know, Adam and Maggie and Joseph.
Not to mention, three new boxes of Pop-Tarts.
Also all the tv in the world and the softest bed ever. I woke up three times last night and each time noted that the view greeting my eyes was identical. I had not budged an inch.
Also honeybuns and donut holes.
I do take on so.
Anyway. My brother came to the Mill after the show last night to meet up with a bunch of us to go out and get something to eat and to talk to each other. Which I think is a lovely practice.
We all go to Kitchen 64- after much discussion on whether or not Chase would be satisfied with that decision. I declare that I am not concerned with Chase's level of satisfaction in proportion to the satisfaction of the other 13 members of the dinner party, and rationality prevails.
Also, Chase had no prob. with Kitchen 64 to begin with, so I'm not sure why all the hullabaloo.
Perhaps it is because he is the Associate of Artisticness.
We arrive. I am seated next to one end of the table across from my brother with Brett at the very end. I, true to form, immediately scour all my dinner companions until I find a pen (which Hannah always has) and begin the nearest crossword puzzle. Brett immediately announces that he is switching seats with me if I am going to do a puzzle because he wants to talk to people.
In the interest of not being left out, and also maintaining my seat next to the only film director I know, I put the puzzle away. Great sacrifice on my part.
I also agree to order something that the waiter suggested, which is really bizarre for me and has happened twice this weekend. Someone should probably take me to a specialist.
Hannah lets me eat several of her clams? mollusks?
So we leave.
My brother and I go back to Jan's joint, where we collapse on the couch (AFTER FEEDING AND TENDING TO THE DOGS), and flip back and forth between the season finale of Season 3 of America's Next Top Model and an episode of American Gangsters.
Pretty much the same thing.
Then I get my brother what appears to be an oversized doily from Jan's bed to cover up with on the couch and I go to sleep.
Then I woke up.
I help myself to 2 brown sugar-cinnamon Pop-Tarts and a great big swallow of what very unfortunately turns out to be buttermilk.
Do not drink that.
Though I don't understand why it should taste so nasty. The title would seem to imply pleasant things. Oh well.
Had to get out another glass for the regular milk when I found it. Couldn't bear the thought that some of the buttermilk aura might still be stuck to the glass.
I rap my brother sharply on the ankle about six times and he wakes up.
He is secretly impressed that we are at the home of the Haynes lady. (As am I, but I don't say that.)
We go pick up Brett, for today is the day that Wilson is to be taken to his new home.
We return my brother to the Mill, and proceed directly to Rassie's house.
Rassie is my grandmother, in whose garage the cats were being kept.
I don't know if I have mentioned on here yet, but while I was at the beach earlier this week with my brother and cousin, my mother called crestfallen to tell me that when she had opened the garage door that morning to feed the cats, Suprise had bolted hell for leather out of the garage, down the side yard, and vanished into the underbrush. She called and called and rattled food, to no avail.
She thought this was rather peculiar, because for the life of any of us, for as long as Suprise and Wilson have been staying in that garage, the only way I can extract them from the drywall is with hope and a contortionist. They will not allow themselves to be seen, let alone venture outdoors.
Anyway. I realize to my shock that I might cry. And that happened twice. Two times I almost cried. My heart is becoming exposed, people. But I get over it. Cause as we all know, me and cats just should not own each other.
So we go down there today to get Wilson. I open the garage, start gathering together his litter and food while Brett goes into the back corner with a flashlight to fetch Wilson.
He peeps behind the cabinet where Wilson likes to hide and says, "Hey, buddy."
I experience a pang and say somewhat mournfully, "I'm sad that you still have a buddy and I don't."
Brett reaches his hand down to scruff Wilson.
Then says, "I don't think this is my buddy."
I scamper over. I peep.
Definitly Suprise. Vacant and loopy as ever. Happy as a clam to see us.
I exclaim something and scoop him up and nuzzle him and am so happy even though I am simultaneously thinking, "now I have to keep paying for cat food."
So Brett goes out beating the bushes and calling for Wilson.
Oh well. I find it odd that my mother would mistake Wilson for Suprise, and do not like to think of her beginning to descend into senility, but what else to make of it, I don't know.
We get in the car to buzz over to my parents house, because Suprise has this trick where, if you scoop him up like a baby, he will go completely limp and lay in your arms like a dead person. I am gleeful at the sight this will be as I mount the steps to my parents' front porch with what appears to be Suprise's dead body in my arms. I realize this is hateful of me.
So we go. I ring the bell. I hear my brother growl from inside, "It's Audra. And Brett. AND SUPRISE!"
My mother joyfully flings open the door and says, "You found him!"
I explain what has happened and that, unfortunately, it was Wilson who escaped.
She shakes her head and tells us that she is SURE that the cat that ran out was black.
I believe her, cause she is a smart woman, and no one wants to think that their mother is hallucinating or on mushrooms.
But this is clearly impossible.
At this moment my father pipes up from behind the newspaper, "There's been a stray cat sniffing around the garage over there. Maybe he got stuck in the garage one time when the door was up."
I latch right onto this theory. This is clearly AWESOME.
We get back in the car. Suprise fiddles with the radio, has a coffee.
And sure enough, there is Wilson. Happily miserable stuffed behind the turkey fryer.
So my father saved the day.
We rip Wilson out of the catacombs of the garage and shuttle him straight away to his new home.
Wilson, who LOVES to complain, bitched and howled and gasped and woed himself all the way there. Until the instant I turn into the driveway of his new home. Which is lined with poplars and has several very expensive looking cars in the circular driveway. Wilson has always been one for pomp and snoot.
Then I sleep for an hour and a half.
Then I lose all my hair down the drain in the shower.
THEN. THE PREMIERE.
I wear my diamonds I have on borrow from Robyn. Obviously.
We watch 10 or 12 of the 48-Hour Film Project Films.
1. Ours was good.
2. When the man jumped onto the jet ski with absolutely no pants on.
3. The way that animated gray tubby superhero ran down hallways.
It was neat to be able to identify places around town that you recognize in the movies.
I was going to go into more detail about that but now I don't feel like it.
Anyway, the show was once again great fun tonight.
Tom and Paul have almost convinced me that I am going out of my mind because SOMEBODY- and it MAY have been me- kept putting my Snapple back in the fridge. I did not think it was me.
They swear it was. But then I saw Paul being crafty with my snapple by the balcony railing. So we shall see.
Tom informed me that he would rather not go to dinner at Robyn and Ginnie's if I was going to go too.
And Susan and Jody and John Moon and Jeff M. and Dee and Scott Melton was there-always good to know his whereabouts.
And mostly, as we all frisked/staggered into the green room after curtain call, we were greeted by the sight of two very tall, very businessish looking police officers.
I am at once certain they have tracked me down for my expired license plate tags.
But I am wrong.
I'm going to have more milk.