Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Birthday Pie

I made pie last Friday for a little birthday shin-dig that I threw myself.

Here's a secret: I hate hosting parties. I get really anxious. My mind constantly flashes to this story my mom told me once about how no one came to her birthday party one year and I am sure that that's what will happen. I especially get nervous if I start thinking that I'm trying too hard. Because I picture my apartment, all clean and ready for guests, food set out, still pristine at the end of the night because no one showed up.

So dramatic, right? But it's the truth. This is my fear.

Some things just strike at your heart. For example, when I watch The Iron Giant I sob at the end. I am not a crier, especially not in front of people. But this movie? I could watch it a thousand times and each time the tears would pour off my face and I'd wish I were alone so I could ugly cry. It just strikes something. (I know this doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement, but the movie is really fantastic).

Well, preparing for a fun party and having people not show strikes me, no matter who it's happening to. I went to this Oscars screening at the student union cause I don't have cable, and I felt that twinge in my heart because there was low turnout but there was tons of food and balloons. Balloons. There is just something tragic about insufficiently appreciated balloons, amiright?

People did come to my party and the party was fun and I think people had a good time. I am still residually nervous that they didn't, of course, but that's just me. But the pie? A definite success. People went back for seconds.

And that is why I love pie.

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