Oh.  My.  Gosh. 

That’s all I should really say about last night’s Mommy Needs a Glass of Wine Event at the Winery at La Grange.  Or maybe I should start from the beginning…

I called Melissa around 4:30 yesterday afternoon to see what the plan was.  Because if you don’t have a plan, checking for one 2 hours before a party is an excellent time to make one. 

M:  I need to wash my hair.  And don’t be tweeting or telling the rest of the Internet that.
K:  I wouldn’t do that (frantically tweeting it). You are fine.
M:  You don’t know that.  I need to wash my hair.
K:  I have a shirt for you.  We’ll just shop from our personal store in the back of my truck.  It’s not just a clean shirt, it’s a NEW shirt.

The power of persuation, she is my super power.  Screw the hair, thirty minutes later we were on our way to drop off a chocolate fountain at someone’s wedding reception and then off to the party.  Except after we dropped it off,  she started bitching and moaning about her dirty head.  Which, people, did not look dirty to me. But I guess your head is your personal issue. I started bitching about needing coffee. 

M:  Let’s just stop at Target and get a blow dryer. 
K:  And we are gonna go where with that?  Are you gonna pick up a bottle of shampoo and then I’ll wash your hair in the sink at the vineyard?  “Hi, we are here for the party.  We’re just gonna go wash her hair and we’ll be RIGHT back?”

My super power of persuasion?  Not as great as I thought it was.  Because we find ourselves in the parking lot of a shopping center.  Where there is a Hair Cuttery.

K:  Dude.  It costs like $12 to get your hair cut at Hair Cuttery.  It has to be practically free to get your hair washed.

The Chocolate Fountain Fairy Godmother went in to bum a clean head at HC and I went into Starbucks to get us drinks.  With her Starbucks card.  I ordered a Skinny Mocha Triple Latte for me and a Triple Latte for her.  Except I had never had a SML before and when I tasted it, it was vile.  I walked back to Hair Cuttery and handed her the Skinny Mocha.

M:  What’s this?
K:  You’re gonna love it. 

It took her about 30 minutes to realize that I had ordered it for myself, reviled it and pawned it off on her.  All on her Starbuck’s card.  She realized this after she came out of Hair Cuttery with a clean, but slightly funky blow out and she had driven us 11 miles past the vineyard because we couldn’t agree on directions.  About two minutes later….

K:  Thank God I got us triple shots.  It’s clear we are going to need them.

There was what can only be described as a very.  pregnant.  pause.

M:  WHAT???
K:  What?
M:  This is a triple shot?  Tell me this doesn’t have three shots. (pointing to her near empty coffee cup).
K:  Hell, yeah, it does.
M:  You didn’t get me three shots.
K:  You need to stay awake?
M:  I haven’t told you I have a heart arrhythmia? I wonder how my cardiologist will feel about coming to the ER tonight….

Internet.  Am I the only person who thinks this information would have been helpful BEFORE I went into Starbuck’s? Because I am looking to have a good time and the ER does not fit into that equation. If I wanted to go to the ER, I would have just stayed home with the children for the evening.

She was fine. Big fat baby. What’s a little heart racing? We showed up at the vineyard late but we were laughing so hard tears were streaming down our cheeks. Her friend Barb came to help us and she was the best sales person I have ever had.  And then Kimberly showed up, which meant the party had arrived.   Fellow DC Metro Mom Blogger Andrea came with her friends and I got to meet all sorts of new people (HI, ELIZABETH AND AMY!!). I drank wine, ate amazing food, scarfed down a pound of strawberries dipped in the chocolate fountain and there was an incident with a woman eating our “for sale” Mommy Needs Chocolate bars. CFFG wore the Cocktail girl robe around all night and there are rumors of pictures of her on the picnic table sporting the martini glass.

I promise I shall never again forget my camera.  Or maybe some things are better left undocumented…

We are sitting on the couch watching Die Hard 37 and I am meticulously tying pretty red ribbon with pink hearts around my pretty pink “Mommy Needs Chocolate” t-shirts. Are they available on the internet? No, they are not. They are not available on the internet because I can’t figure out how to put the damn pictures in the shopping cart. Trena has promised to come to my rescue but my to-do list has 9 million things ABOVE that project.

So why am I tying pretty ribbon around pretty shirts? Because I’m gonna take them down to the Pink Pantry tomorrow for the Chinese New Year celebration/party. Can I just say that it helps when one of your girlfriend’s owns the best coffee shop in Fairfax County and that she sells your shirts there? Preschool, your money’s a-comin.’

But I am starting to get a little insecure. Maybe the intended audience for the shirts–lazy men who have failed to shop for their wives for Valentine’s Day–won’t think they are cute. I decided to try them out on my husband when he asked what the hell I was doing.

K: Do you think these are pretty?
D: I guess.
K: Yeah, but do you think they will sell?
D: Probably.
K: I mean, if you saw it in the coffee shop, would you buy it for me?
D: Babe, are you saying you want me to go to the coffee shop tomorrow and buy a shirt for you?

I swear to God. The things that come out of this man’s mouth. We got married? Seriously? Seriously. First in his class? Really?

K: Yeah, Babe. That’s exactly what I’m saying. After I spend 10 minutes putting a bow and tag on each shirt, I want you to go to the coffee shop and buy one for me? HELLO??? NO. If I wanted a shirt, I think I could make my own. I am just asking if you, as a dopey guy, would actually contemplate purchasing this for your wife as a last minute-not your usual Valentine’s Day present?
D: Actually, BABE. I was just sitting here thinking that it was a pretty cool present to buy. I mean. If your wife is a mom and if she likes chocolate.
K: There are women who don’t like chocolate?
D: And it actually looks kinda wrapped. So a guy wouldn’t have to do anything.
K: THAT is the point.
D: Yeah, I think they are going to sell.

Yeah, me too.

I’ll post a picture tomorrow. All the camera batteries are dead. Sheesh!

Um, is the Pope catholic?

Lately, thanks to my foray into the world of selling my shirts at The Pink Pantry, and then putting the baby on the floor of The Pink Pantry so I can make myself a nice decaf Mocha latte behind the counter, I have been meeting lots of people.  When they ask who I am, I say “I’m Mommy Needs a Cocktail.” 

“Oh,” they say, “you are the Shirt Lady?”

“That, and I’m ‘Mommy Needs a Cocktail.”

It seems to have the general population stumped.  I then have to wander into my little schtick about how I blog, and that I was blogging BEFORE I made t-shirts and how I did it all by my lonesome.  So when all the technicalities are out of the way, I get the inevitable, “are you gonna blog about me?”

To be honest, you had better be interesting or at least be on the road to interesting far enough along so I can take creative license to get you all the way to funny.   Or you can just do something really stupid, like have the cable run through my yard so that when my fence guys knock on the door to apologize for accidentally cutting the cable that I DON’T have, you can then get really pissy at me for cutting your cable line that is running underground on MY property and for putting up a fence on the property line that just happens to be 25 feet from your house.  Your house that you put on the property line of your 6 acres that looked even bigger than 6 acres with those nice woods that are mine and are now comfortably located within, I believe you described to me as, “one of those ugly fences that I don’t want associated with MY property.”  You are going to make the blog for stupid crap like that.  The title to that post will most likely be “how to welcome the new folks to the neighborhood.”  You will probably also make the blog for the stupid crap your son does, like driving up the hill in reverse at 30 mph.  Never fear.  At 17, his 6 months driving experience means that we will all be safe around here. 

Now, if you tell me a story about how your 10-year old son just discovered boobs and how you were so proud of his love of boobs that is not unlike your love of boobs, you are probably going to make it front and center on Mommy Needs a Cocktail. 

It was nice meeting you today, Darren.  Love your coffee.