Livia's. Tony staggers drowsily down the steps in his robe, and opens the front door to find Carmela there, knocking furiously. Tony invites her in, although the living room is pretty much blanketed with empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and small colonies of semi-sentient protozoa. "The girl called in sick," he claims. "Get a new one," suggests Carmela. The protozoa remain neutral on that subject. Tony motions for Carmela to take a seat, and then goes all faux-formal and inquires, "May I get you anything?" with a tone of perfect self-mockery. Heh. She declines his offer, and he collapses down onto the sofa and asks after her father. Carmela confirms that Pa is going to be just fine, and then hands over a newspaper she must have grabbed off his doorstep. Aww. See? Those two crazy kids really do love each other. But not as much as they love their subtext. Carmela tentatively brings up the birthday party, and it's obvious right from the start that Tony had completely forgotten about it. It's also obvious that Carmela totally knew he would forget about it, so her coming over here to disinvite him seems a bit disingenuous. Then again, everyone else on the planet seems to know about the party, so I guess she'd have to tell him eventually. Anyway, Tony takes the news pretty well, claiming that he had already decided when they "broke up" that he wasn't going to attend. He does, however, pull out a wad of cash and offer to contribute. Carmela, unfortunately, still hasn't learned to leave well enough alone, so instead of accepting graciously, she tells him that she'd rather he spent that money to go back to this therapist. Which only makes sense if she somehow thinks it's his last $250 on Earth, but whatever. An argument ensues, with Tony displaying his typical immaturity by retorting that Carmela is the one who needs a shrink, and Carmela displaying her typical shrewishness by bitching that she can't afford one. And then she leaves, and a particularly eloquent paramecium sidles over to Tony and asks if he can borrow the cash to get his cilia fluffed for a big date with a flagellate from over by the end table.

Junior's Joint. He's camped out in the living room, watching La Dolce Vita on cable, when Bobby comes over for his daily visit. Unfortunately, this scene really only serves to offer up the double whammy of reminding me how much I resent a Junior scene in an episode with no Silvio or Paulie, and also highlighting how crappy HBO's rotation of movies tends to be these days. Junior bitches, as he is wont to do, and then Bobby gossips, as he is wont to do. It seems he ran into Rosalie Aprile over at the bakery, and she told him all about Pa's big birthday bash. Junior is more than a little miffed that he didn't get an invite, so he decides to call up Hugh and personally deliver his regrets at not being able to attend. Bobby warns him that it's supposed to be a surprise, but that doesn't stop Junior. "What are we, children?" he asks. Well, let's see. You wander off unattended, you frequently sob uncontrollably, and you often have trouble controlling your excretory functions. Yep, sound like a child to me. At any rate, Junior dials directory assistance to get the DeAngelis' number, and then gleefully pushes the button to have the call auto-dialed. "What the fuck, it's over anyhow," he mutters. Okay, fine. Heh. Pa answers the phone, and seems a bit nonplussed to be hearing from Junior, who complains that he can't attend the "jubilee" because "the federal government says I can't leave the house, and my family keeps me sedated." Wow. I think this guy spent a little too much time hanging out with Livia during his golden years. Junior also explains his decision to ruin the surprise by saying that at their age, it's a surprise just to wake up in the morning. Hugh, however, obviously abides by a fairly liberal spoiler policy, because he's thrilled to learn that there are surprise shenanigans afoot, and hangs up with a happy grin. Bobby, on the other hand, just puts down his coffee and stomps right out of Junior's house without saying a word.