I’m officially 32 (Both here and back home-Philippines) and slightly buzzed. My head’s racing about 100 mph. And I’ll explain why. My original plan was to just enjoy the day doing absolutely nothing but to sit on my worn out yet equally comfortable couch, drink a glass of wine and enjoy some cheese and a simple dinner and drink some more wine while peering over a book. But, somehow, “hey you wanna come over? saturday? to my house? I’m cooking. It’s my birthday!” managed to slip out. I hear myself saying those words yet I can’t seem to stop myself. Who is this person and why is she inviting people and commissioning me to cook! On my birthday! As if that’s not stressful enough, I have nothing to cook. My brain was in shambles when I made multiple trips to the store this week. I thought about pasta, sure! So I bought a box of pasta, angel hair. Hey, what’s quicker to cook than needle-thin noodles. Then I bought fish. And ooh! A cheeseboard with assortment of cheeseseses… I came home, oops! I forgot the wine, so I made another trip to the store the next day and then, I bought another box of pasta, this time, linguini. Got home, yyikes! My cheeseseses are gross, forgot to refrigerate! Guess what, hello store! Bought more cheese, got home and found out I hate camembert and I don’t think anything in my wine list complements the stilton that I bought. A couple of things went right, though. I love the duck and pork liver mousse in port wine and my brand spanking new zester/grater. I gave myself a pat on the back but that still doesn’t make up for my alter ego’s insanely extreme hospitality.