Shut Down Your Holiday Dinner!

By Rachel Zoe

I guess you all have heard the big news, that I’m like, totally pregnant. Rodger and I have been trying--well Rodger has been trying, I’ve been too busy to try because of fashion week, the Oscars and the Golden Globes, so when Rodger told me that I was pregnant I was shocked. It blew. Me. Away. I looked at him and said “.Shut. The. Front. Door. Literally.”

So now that Rodger and I are going to be like, real life parents, I thought it was time that I became, like, a domestic diva instead of just a fashionista. Especially since I’m. So. Fat. I have gained a massive 7 oz and You can’t be a top fashion stylist and look like Madame Revolta Flabbericious. So I'm like, extending my brand. (Plus I can sell really cute tchotchkes)

Preparing a holiday meal is like, fashion week, the Oscar and the Golden Globes all rolled into one. Ugh. Disaster. I die. The only way to do it, is to do it. Literally. No words.

Preparation

Stay up the night before having nightmares about the day. If you don’t have a pain in your stomach you’re not concentrating. Remember: this is nothing but stress. Nothing. No one in the history of the world has ever had this much stress. I die. It is on a whole ‘nother level. Literally.

Day Before

Decide what you are going to serve and figure out how much to serve per person.

1 oz turkey per person
½ cup steamed veggies
1 cup salad no dressing
1/8 tsp Mashed potatoes.
175 Cranberries
Venti Starbucks Skinny Latte
1 pack Marlboros
1 bottle Pinot Grigio

Now you multiply the servings by the number of people attending.Write it down and take an Advil for the migraine this has caused. If you are too weak to write get your intern to do it for you.

Give the list to your business manager and catch up on your Google alerts while she grocery shops. I. LOVE. Whole Foods. It has a parking lot to. Die For. So chic.

While waiting in the car, phone your family and assistants and tell them that you are going to have the meal at your agent’s house. Call your agent and tell her the same thing. Die from exhaustion.

The Day

Wake up exhausted.

While your hairstylist does your hair, send your maid over to your agent’s house with the groceries. You can catch up on some rest while your makeup artist puts on your face as it will take a while.

Wear your vintage 80’s Yves Saint Laurent black Le Smoking jacket with the satin lapel over your 70’s Gucci silver and black silk metallic thread blouse with a ruffle front and ascot paired with your Lanvin gold and black brocade velvet skirt. Cinch it with with a red Valentino snakeskin belt. Top with a Sybil Connolly black wool crocheted hooded cloak (don’t let anyone call it a cape. A cape is so. Ugh.) add a Howard Hodge black feather hat from the 40’s and die. Literally, like, die. You’ve just killed it. You are so off the chain. Ugh. Throw on six chunky vintage cuff bracelets, 12 cocktail rings, 8 gold rope chains and a coral brooch. No earrings because less is more and you’re done.

Once you’ve arrived at your agent’s house, you, like, get straight to work.

Have your assistant Jordan style the turkey, because, like, the inside of the turkey has gross things like necks. And feet. Ugh.

Have your husband Rodger place the turkey in the oven and baste until it is done. Die from stress. Make some calls.

Prepare a salad by getting your publicist Gina to chop edible things into small pieces and then place them in a bowl. ( Suggestions, orange, red and green things.) Send some Twitter updates.

Send your intern Ashley to get mashed potatoes and gravy from Trader Vics because. like, you have a million things to do, you can't remember everything.

Have your agent lay a table with Broderie depression-era tablecloth topped with quirky vintage multicoloured enamelware and add bone handled silver. OK, I’m dying. I get goosebumps. Literally, I have bumps all over. This kills it.

Rearrange napkins and tell everyone how stressful this is. This is like fashion week, the Oscars and the Golden Globes all rolled into one.

Finally, at the home stretch, have your Joey serve the guests and that is it. Shut it down. You’ve nailed it. Done. Over. You’ve died from stress but it’s all worth it .

Take a 3 week holiday in St. Bart’s with your husband Rodger to recuperate.

And that’s it until next year.

Ugh. My God.

This is way too much for just one person.

No words.