Next Stop: Womanhood

In several ancient Native American societies, entire villages celebrated a girl’s first period to mark the beginning of her transition into womanhood. In Spanish speaking communities, una quinceañera commemorates the day a girl becomes eligible for more womanly responsibilities, such as work and marriage. In America, you know a girl is well on her way when she can successfully plan a menu, shop for it, cook it and simultaneously entertain a large group of people. This rite of passage is known simply as the cocktail party, and I had my first last night.

It all started when some beloved family members of mine were in town from New York and mentioned that they’d like to see my place. “I’ll have everyone over for a cocktail party!!!” I naively volunteered, not wholly understanding the implications of my offer. Just like that, I was committed. I had made BIG promises to my BIG family, and I knew I had my work cut out for me. I also knew I couldn’t do it alone. So I asked Michelle if she wanted to make it a roommate cocktail party, she agreed, and suddenly I had an accomplice. Things were looking up.

That weekend, when Michelle and I were hung over and wandering around Target for two hours as we often do on Saturdays, we decided to buy some invitations for our soirée. (When you’re at Target, everything sounds like a great purchase. Waffle makers, fake eyelashes, a new pillow… party invitations were the most logical thing in our basket.) We chose some simple invites that vomited gold glitter all over the place but somehow also oozed elegance and sophistication. We exchanged a glance that said it all: “Let’s do this”.

Before we knew it, it was menu-planning time. We emailed, texted, and had a number of serious conversations before we agreed on several hors d’ouerves. Some were family favorites, some were new challenges. That’s when it hit me. There was no meat on the menu. We needed a meat! PEOPLE LIKE MEAT! That initiated a whole new conversation:

“Fish?”
“ Too hard to cook.”
“ Beef?”
“ Too bloody.”
“ Pork?”
“ Too mysterious and creepy.”

That left poultry, always a safe bet. Chicken skewers with peanut sauce it was.

Nexxxt it was grocery shopping. I made my first trip to Taco Soopers (hilariously named by us for its “urban” local and extensive selection of authentic Mexican products) on Sunday. In my hand I had a color-coded, elaborate shopping list that ironically neglected to mention most of the essential ingredients. That’s why I was back at Taco Soopers on Monday, Tuesday (food stamp day) and Wednesday.

Michelle also had a tough time shopping. I would get frantic texts from her, like “WHERE DO I FIND THE WASABI??” and “WHAT ISLE ARE THE RICE CRACKERS ON?” (For your reference, there’s a reason we didn’t name it “Eggroll Soopers”—Taco Soopers has a pathetic selection of Asian foods, and didn’t have either of the aforementioned items.)

We were finally ready for action. We grated cheese. We toasted almonds. We mashed cream cheese up with our hands. We skewered chicken and fried bacon. We rolled out cookie dough and sliced kiwis. We cried from chopping onions and laughed when we realized (too late) that the tomatoes actually did have to be seeded. We drank a lot of wine.

We. Were. Exhausted.

On the day of the party, we were feeling pretty organized. At work, I made a pre-party list that looked like this:

• SLICE FRUIT FOR FRUIT PIZZA
• MARINATE/SKEWER/COOK CHICKEN AND MAKE SAUCE
• HEAT ALMOND DIP
• GET WINE-LOTS OF WINE
• CLEAN BATHROOM
• PUT SINATRA ON IPOD
• VACUUM
• PUT SOME MAKEUP ON
• BRUSH YOUR HAIR
  

Considering that 7 minutes before the guests arrived I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathroom floor in my party dress, the event went remarkably well. (Unless you count my aunt Pamela writing her name in the dust on one of our side tables...woops, missed a spot…) To our delight, the guests really enjoyed the hors d’ourves! The Rockies won! Everyone was rip-roaring drunk!

And after 3 hours, it was over. The people, food and wine were gone. Even the dishes weren’t that horrible to do; we merrily washed and dried. And before we called it a night, we high-fived, because we knew womanhood was not only present, it was thriving.