Baby Steps

Last night I put on my first dinner party as an unmarried young professional.
I like to think it was a step away from adolescence, into the realm of adulthood.
What it was was a fearful range of emotions as I realized the imagined pressure middle age people go through when they do these things for a good time.
I mean the company was excellent, and thanks to the ring in chefs I don't think there's ever been better food served.
It ended up through my own disorganized panic over catered and under attended by my fellows who just aren't ready yet.
Which is odd since I'm the one in a basketball jersey and sporting an undercut.
But I seriously felt the whole spectrum yesterday you know from joy through to despair.
I usually have the attitude that people should be grateful no matter what shit I serve up but for some reason I got real performance anxiety.
I had sold it as an iron chef event, and only I ended up running around stressed out and cutting dishes from my entry.
I destroyed a blender but ended up pulling off all my dishes.
Sonam cooked something shit hot but couldn't stay to eat, I do love that big guy, he cut my onions up for me as I really get done in by their noxious acid.
And I can tell Janice will be talking about Amrish's tofu at dinner parties for the next three years or so.
There was so much good food you almost wished for a vomitorium so you could go for seconds.
Fortunately I will be spared the dissapointment of returning to corner store food for a week or so thanks to the miracle of Tupperware.
But I realised the dinner party was sort of a profound metaphor for my life, that is a wonderful idea with dismal execution. And I wonder, could this mean I will never be organised enough to command my army of ninja's?