Meatball Shots and Other Stuff

'Kay, so I had a party on Friday. You know, Halloween on a weekend, lotsa festivity, blah, blah, blah. I throw many parties. Can generally do it with both hands tied behind my back. The two things that made this function somewhat unique are that A) I managed to hold my shit together (at the request of my husband) and B) I think I very nearly subjected many of my guests to alcohol poisoning with an appetizer. You are supposed to bring bourbon sauce to a BOIL before pouring it over your meatballs. Not surprisingly, they seemed to have attracted a crowd. So while I crawled into bed (in my pj's.....moral victory!) I suspect that many of my guests ended up in the face down, spread eagle, fully-clothed and on top of the covers position of degradation. Sorry guys. I found myself in this shameful predicament the next night. Having been awash with relief that my hostessing duties were in the rear view mirror, I was feeling rather celebratory. Unfortunately, I chose to get my freak on at a grown-up party. I have lots of friends from 20-70. None of them are grown-ups. Grown ups and their grown-uppy ways scare me. And I think I scare them. Anyway, the martini-punch was WAY good. I'm not really sure what I was doing but at some point it was determined that I needed to go home. Something about scaring the children.