Total Panic

Sometimes I wonder just how well I know myself. I'm typically a pretty relaxed, laid-back individual who rolls with the punches, takes the long view and doesn't get too wound up about things.

Until I start to plan a party. Then I lose my ever-loving mind, freaking out from the time the invitations go out until the party is over about food, drinks, decor, what I'm going to wear, who is going to come, etc. Every time I plan a get-together, I end up in a month-long flop sweat. I lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, envisioning every possible outcome of the party. I mentally try on different outfits - some of which I own, some of which I don't - trying to find the one that perfectly expresses my ability to host a party, entertain all of my family and friends, cook, flirt, laugh, tell great stories, and keep everyone's drink full. I'm not sure what that outfit looks like, actually, but I bet Martha Stewart owns a couple.

So most of the time, I don't host big get-togethers. I do better with small dinners. But this weekend, I had a few too many cocktails out with the girls and suddenly, I thought it would be a marvelous idea to have a party the day after Christmas. (Keep in mind, I'm responsible for Christmas this year for the first time ever, so I'm just adding to my list of anxieties for the holiday season.) Once I started talking about it, I envisioned this glamorous night of cocktails and desserts, with all my friends floating from room to room in my house, sipping tasty drinks and nibbling on delectable desserts, all of which I'd make from scratch. As the weekend went on, the guest list grew, as did the menu, the bar, the decor, and especially the bill. Tony went blithely along, knowing that his participation would be limited to opening the door and hanging people's coats in the hall closet. (Which is jammed, top to bottom, with office supplies. We'll have to find somewhere new to hide that stuff.)

When I finally sobered up this morning (it was a good weekend, what can I say?) the full reality of what I've committed to hit me. Now, don't get me wrong - I'm super excited and can't wait to have a house full of people partying it up. I have always wanted to host parties and dinners and feed everyone I know. HOWEVER, I have not done it often, and I've certainly never hosted a party with this level of expectation. It is one thing to open a case of beer and a bag of Doritos and throw some burgers on the grill. It is quite another to invite close to 100 people to your house for a dessert buffet, signature cocktails and mingling.

I've spent the last two hours, between taking phone calls and trying to get some work done (because in addition to this party, I also have this JOB thing, this COMPANY to run), in a total panic, flipping wildly among web sites, looking for cocktails that will work with desserts, recipes for miniature desserts that I can make with my limited pastry skills and kitchen equipment, decor ideas and my evite page, where my mood is entirely decided by how many people are attending and how many guests they are bringing. (My self-esteem depends on being liked by everyone, so the guest list is a measure of my self-worth.)

I think much of this would be easier if Tony and I had entertained at all in our new house. But we were waiting to get enough furniture so that we wouldn't have to host a "Bring your own chair" party. Now that we are at that point (thanks, Mom!), I'm ready to stock the bar and open the door to the hordes. In theory.

In reality, I'll spend the next 18 days testing recipes, frantically counting glasses, calling my mom every 20 minutes for advice, trying on outfits, buying the Party Source out of vodka and champagne and laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, sweating it out.

But maybe the flop sweat will help me lose the 25 pounds I need to before the party.