How to host a cocktail party

It has come to my attention that many of you were intrigued, shall we say, by the idea of hosting a cocktail party.

It occurred to me I could actually help my dear readers, because... People?

This is the one thing I actually know how to do.

Apparently the word "cocktail" is a bit intimidating to some people. Well, it shouldn't be. Really, cocktail party is simply the grown up word for kegger, and you remember those, right?

There are a couple little differences, however.

For one, now that you're a grown-up, you may have a couple of these hanging around:



They will try to distract you from your work with bickering, requests for assorted food items, and possibly some nonsense called a playdate, or they will have lost something and need your uterus to find it.

In any case, your first order of business is to dispatch them post haste.

Now this is not the time to try to be a good mommy, and find something like a friend or a craft to occupy them.

No, no. Just use the resources the good Lord hath given you, your television sets. None of this PBS nonsense, either. The show has to be something vaguely inappropriate so your children will be too afraid to even utter a sound for fear it will remind you what they are doing and you will change your mind.

Also, ideally, it should fill pretty much an entire afternoon.

In this case, I chose a Ti-Vo'ed American Idol audition. It had the added benefit of being quite educational - a lovely young lady denounced her years as a meth addict and counseled everyone not to do drugs. One less thing for me to do, now. Talk about multi-tasking!

And just look at this, people. Perfect.



Do not be tempted by the quiet due to Child Protective Services' arrival to take your children from you to take a nice nap on the couch.

No, no. There is work to be done, people.

First you must go into your basement and bring up some wine.



This, as you might have noticed, is another departure from the kegger-style party, in that grown-up women often prefer wine to beer because you can fit more of it into your body, what with it not filling you up so much it tastes better.

Another possible distinction is that possibly you did not have a basement full of alcohol when you were in college.

(Also a cabinet-full next to the fridge. )

(And a stash in the laundry room.)

Next, we must open our junk drawers and pick out some napkins:



Do not get bogged down by little things like the possibility of offending people you don't even know with bad jokes about religion and alcoholism.

These things are of minor importance compared to the greater questions of where to spit out the appetizers they don't like.

Which brings me to the next step, the food. This part sounds very intimidating, until you realize that people do not actually want food interfering with the absorption of alcohol in their system, so really you are merely setting a few things out for decoration-like.

Which conveniently saves you from having to go out and buy flowers.

Generally, a cheese tray, crackers and some grapes is enough. Maybe some chocolate or cookies. I do have one recipe I make that everyone likes, that looks extremely impressive, and because I am having so much fun drawing on these pictures - it's like crack, people! nice that way, I will show it to you.

It is very complicated, so pay attention:



Spread out that wasabi, throw that second half of the cream cheese on top, smoosh it flat, sprinkle sesame seeds and chives or green onions on top and pour a boatload of soy sauce over it all, and serve it with those little round rice crackers for scooping. There will be none left at the end of the night, and people will think you did something so complicated you couldn't possibly have scarfed down half a bag of candy hearts at the same time.

This might be a good time to confess that I did actually make a third thing, and I will, since it allows me to show you something Santa put in my stocking:



But before you feel too sorry for me, let me assure you that is nothing.

Because this sexy thing is what I got for my anniversary last year:




The shoe, people, not the pig. 'Cuz the pig coulda actually been cute in comparison.

Anyway. Onward with the party-prep.

Stash He Who Bites:



Swiffer up his hair:



And some pine needles.

And... a rubber band? Who the heck cleans this place...? Alrighty. That's enough with the cleaning, already. That part can't be emphasized enough: DO NOT CLEAN too much. Just scoop up the batches of dog hair if you have a dog, and wipe down your toilet if you have a boy.

And voila - you're ready for your party.

Now, the more astute of you may have noticed that while I was so busy getting ready, I omitted one little thing: While I did happen to mention to the entire universe that my OB/GYN was coming to the party, I forgot to tell Man just how I planned to handle the issue, which was pretty much by hiding behind my kitchen counter like a 10-year-old and pretending nothing ever happened.

Apparently I neglected to explain this strategy to Man, who greeted the good doctor at the door with a "Oh, wow! Yes, you were my wife's OB! Great to see you again!" at the top of his lungs, leaving everyone else in the room with some lovely images in their head, and me a bit red in the face, stammering things like, "Oh, no, no, it was just a C-section - have some dip."

But you, in all likelihood, will not have to deal with such crises, and before you know it, the party will be all over, and all that will be left for you to do is to spend the next three days staring at this latest entry into your life of marital stand-offs:



and wondering who is going to clean it up.