Fresh Baked

Friday, July 30, 2004

T-MeFreakingtheHellOut

YOU'RE INVITED!!
When: 31 July 2004
Time: 2:00pm
What: B's 25th Birthday Celebration
Bring: Presents. Lots of them. Worship me with gifts of diamonds and playing cards. Also? Wear duct tape. Do it. Don't puss out.


I'm having a party at my house on Saturday. A party that requires people to honor me and my quarter-Century agitude, eat copious amounts of Mexican food, and, of course, partake of the KEG and get ripping drunk. While I am suuuper excited at the thought of all these friends coming for a party, I am not, however, doing well with the whole 'party planning' aspect of this. Chicken enchiladas for 30 are cooked. Beef enchiladas for 30 are what I'm supposed to making right now. Instead, I'm writing this. Because actual cooking is what a responsible organizer would do and I am nothing if not irresponsible and disorganized. Last night I actually cried because I'm so worried that I'm going to fuck this up somehow. Its a party, I know, but I have managed to make this molehill into the biggest mountain you have seen.

Today I'm to the point where I have transcended worry and gone straight to hate. I hate the lady who stood in front of the tortilla stand when I needed to get in there. I hate her 10 year old son who told his little brother that was "mentally disturbed." I hate the person parked in front of the 99c store with the "Millionaire in Training" license plate holder. Hate. Seething hate. They're doing nothing wrong, and still I hate. Because they don't have to plan a party for 30 people, try to pack up and move houses, and don't have to make a duct tape outfit that would be on par with this one, because Holy Shit:



Parties are normally a family affair, but half the family is up in Canada right now, which, as it turns out, is a very inconvenient party planning locale. This is all on me and I, normally stress-free, am Losing. My. Shit. Who's gonna help me cook a gazillion pounds of food on Saturday? Who will organize the prizes for the winners? What if I burn everything and have to order pizzas, cranking the bill up to a nice, round $500 or so? What if someone pukes in the neighbor's yard and I'm not sober enough to apologize? Why do I have to make my own birthday cake AGAIN? AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! I need to calm down, I know. Its going to be fine. But until its over? I won't be fine. Not at all.

I talked to Jack today and I think he had the best solution: If anything goes wrong, just point to the keg and smile. I'm just going to try and remember that. There's a keg! What party with a keg and miles of duct tape isn't a good one?


Friday's update:

I'm not any calmer. The food is mostly ready as you can see



Pay special attention to the mess I made on the stove. I'm such a great chef! So good in fact that I burned the living hell out of the rice. And now? I can't get the burned remnants off the pot. Shit, shit, shit.





But here's my dog. Sleeping peacefully while I flip out. And cute as hell (even if a little blurry).