Who doesn’t like a good party? All those adorable bite-sized quiches, tiny sandwiches with none of the pesky crusts and, if you’re really lucky, some karaoke.

I think we should eat all our food with colored toothpicks.

But when you put the word “political” in front of “party,” it sucks the fun out faster than Pat Robertson appearing at your kegger.

To a roomful of ninth graders, the words act as a sedative more powerful than public television. To young adults, as a source of confusion, to some older folks as a badge of pride.

For me, the phrase “political party” ranks right up there with “tongue piercing” and “reality TV”: I just don’t get it.

Among the things that have me discombobulated: Those Hollywood types — the ones who wear ribbons on their designer tuxes and bejeweled gowns in support of homosexuality, racial equality, the transgendered and the disenfranchised — are Democrats, right? And that’s the same party that gave us George Wallace, who forever tarnished this state’s reputation when he attempted to refuse entry of a black student into the University of Alabama, and former KKK Grand Kleagle and current president pro tempore Sen. Robert Byrd (third in line for the presidency).

I’m picturing Susan Sarandon and Robert Byrd at a party together. Somewhere during the night, there’s going to be a 911 call. Somebody’s gonna end up dead, but it will likely be Death by Haranguing because, as angry a woman as she is, Susan doesn’t believe in totin’ guns.

And now it’s Republicans who are confusing me.

Conservative “celebrities” such as Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, and Athens’ own Sean Hannity have gone on record as saying John McCain’s brand of conservatism is too liberal.

Some are saying they may vote for Barack or Hillary out of spite (or not vote at all so that the Democratic candidate has a better chance). So because McCain has a few ideas that don’t mesh with theirs, these ultra-conservatives want to put a liberal, none of whose ideas would mesh with theirs, in office.

Can you say, “Cutting off your head to spite your brain?”

I don’t understand. Surely there are others like me. I know the stylist added too much blonde to my highlights last week but I can still hold my head high and quote Sissy Spacek in the film “Coal Miner’s Daughter”: “I may be ignorant but I ain’t stupid.”

All this confusion is why, ever since I figured out what the terms “blue state” and “red state” mean, I created my own system of voting. I listen to the candidates and score them in these categories:

• Most Likely Not to Have an Affair with an Intern, Or Even Send Dirty E-mails.

• Most Likely to Oppose a Bill Establishing the Fund-For-Millionaires-Who-Could-Use-A-Second-Private-Jet.