i am not a domestic goddess
February 08, 2004, 3:41 pm

"Jess, do you have a trivet?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Something I can put the crock pot on?"

"Crock pot?"

"You know, like a plate so it doesn't burn through the tablecloth?"

"Is that the peach thing on the dining room table?"

"Oh, here's a trivet."

"OH! The owl thing? Why didn't you just say so?"

Leave it to my best friend at school, Megan, who is only 24, to make me feel like a complete and total domestic failure. Seriously, a TRIVET? Who knows this stuff? Later on, I further embarrassed myself when picking up a cupcake.

"Holy shit," I slurred, between bites, "This cake is red!"

"Yes, it's red velvet," said my AP English teacher.

"'It looks like an autopsy!' You know, Steel Magnolias?" Blank stare. "The part with the armadillo cake at the wedding?" Blank stare. "I'm going to go drink another margarita."

I know jackshit about this stuff. It took me an hour and fifteen minutes to sort the china into the right little coverthings today ("They're china-covers!" yells Yaya from the kitchen). You would think that as the oldest of three girls I'd be more schooled in the realm of the kitchen and all that, but the only thing I can make well is Jell-o Easter eggs or a decent Pop Tart. I'm the poster child for the post-feminist homemaker.

Last night, I hosted the "Semester Break Bash" for the teachers at my school. The Math Department did a pretty nice job singing "Blue Moon", and the Guidance Department represented with "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"; the conglomeration of Foreign Language, Science, and Social Studies sang "Show Me The Meaning (Of Being Lonely), but they were all trounced by the showstopping English Department's "Summer Nights". Since we only had one guy with us, I volunteered to take John Travolta's "NIIIIIGGGGHHHHTTTTTS" at the end, much to the delight of the fifty drunk people around me. I'm telling you, until you've performed "I've Got a Man" with the heir apparent to the Social Studies Chairperson throne, you haven't lived.

I am so freaking hungover. I don't mind, though, I actually enjoy the cleaning process after a party. As I surreptiously slurp up the remaining red wine from my favorite glasses and then wash them out in the bar sink, listening to Old School play in the background as I dump now-stale corn chips into overflowing trash bags, I'm reminded that a lot of people had a great time at my house and with me the night before. Now, if I can only find where I threw my slippers during "Y.M.C.A."...