Last night Wendy and I went to the Melting Pot to work our magic. Apparently they get vendors for their monthly Ladies’ Night Out. Who knew? We were just going for the food. But you so knew I wasn’t going to get out of the house easy.

TB: Mom. Mom. Mom. Are you going to a meeting?

The Husband looked up and I hoped that he would just keep his mouth shut. I mean, we go days without hearing his voice. Why throw off the delicate balance that is our house now?

D: Buddy, Mom’s going to ANOTHER meeting.
K: Babe, somebody’s gotta keep this family in the lap of luxury (dramatically pointing to our humble abode). Are you mad that I’m going out again?

The man is a saint. It is only a matter of time before you are able to google the words, “the man is a saint” and this blog will be at the top of the list. He groaned.

D: At least you are really working hard.
K: At all these parties?
D: Yes.

We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I kept off Twitter and the Internet in general.

“Baby, I’m working so hard” is a tough sell when he is sitting in The ‘Potle with the kids (for the second day in a row because I was making shirts instead of cooking), reading that I have absolutely no place to put away this third mojito after I have eaten a pound of strawberries dipped in a chocolate fountain. That I come home night after night, regaling him with stories of spilled wine, delicious food, fabulous friends. I feel like I am a traveling sales rep and my husband is sitting at home, eating mac and cheese.

And some nights you feel like you are making him proud and some nights it’s practically silent and you find yourself giving your friend a hand massage with Melting Pot lotion while sipping your Yin and Yang Martini. You wanna go home and apologize, but then you realize that he is just happy because you are almost back to being the fun, carefree girl he married.

Who will make him proud by being on Oprah…someday…

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…

I know I am supposed to write about that place I went the other day but I didn’t anticipate how feisty people would be about me twittering it.  Not in a conspiracy theory kinda way but more in a “everyone knows you aren’t supposed to take pictures in the Sistine Chapel” kinda way.  So out of respect for my peeps, I shall remain silent about my Vegetable Fajitas and my Freedom Chocolate Dessert.  If it makes you feel better, the halls are mostly single file room only and the government is not spending any extra money on carpeting.  Even remotely.  I will no longer complain about the carpeting in my living room because it is in much better shape than your average executive office.

Instead I will regale you with one of my latest adventures.  I was at Panera the other day because, well, my kids freak out if I try to sneak down to the basement when Maribel comes over. And I had to start the taxes. I mean, it was the 10th. It was about time to flip out about not being able to find closing documents.

I’m perched on the chair in front of the fireplace because when I went in at 8:20, it was 45 degrees out. Some nice guy asks to sit in the armchair beside me and we enjoy our comfortable coexistence until THEY arrived.

It appears that the Panera nearest to my house is the Mary Kay Ra-Ra-You-Can-Do-It-If-You-Can’t-Do-It-Nobody-Can weekly pep talks/indoctrination meetings. It took me 20 minutes to figure it out. I’m hunting through 365 days of two email accounts trying to figure out what exactly I bought this year that is write-offable and I overhear this craziness coming from the 12 year old Mary Kay girl.

MKGoddess:  OK, Kelly. Why don’t we do some role playing?

Seriously?  Seriously.

Kelly:  Oh-kay.

MKGoddess:   You are standing in line at the bank.  There is a woman in front of you.  You get her attention by saying, “I really like your blouse.”

Seriously?  Now I’m crying into my coffee and the guy beside me has a look on his face that suggests he would rather be getting a root canal that sitting in between me and the Mary Kay Goddess.

MKGoddess:  After give her a compliment her on her blouse, you tell her that you want to invite her to a Mary Kay party.

People, I am not lying.  We used to have this saying back when I worked in the government. “You cannot make this stuff up.”  Except we swore, of course.  Because that’s what working for the government makes you want to do.  But back to the show.

MKGoddess:  And don’t give up if she doesn’t act interested.  She wants to come.  She just might not know it yet.

1 hour of this.  I had to listen to one hour of convincing strangers, family and friends that they DO want to come to Mary Kay parties.  Don’t get me wrong.  This girl LOVES the Mary Kay lip gloss she had 10 years ago but browbeating strangers in line at the bank?  I want you to know.  The only conversation I want to have in line at the bank is the “my, what well-behaved children you have” conversation (which is yet to happen) and the “I just love your Mommy Needs a Cocktail shirt.  I must have 20.  Where can I buy them?” (which is yet to happen as well).  Otherwise?  I don’t want to talk.  I want to watch the financial news ticker on the flat screen t.v. with everyone else while I balance one fat toddler on my hip and keep a pressure-point hold on a preschooler so he isn’t off applying for a car loan if I turn my back.  And I haven’t worn a “blouse” in at least 15 years.

I couldn’t move from my spot since my ass was glued to the comfy chair.  In front of the fire.  Even though it was now 78 outside.  So I just listened and judged her in my head.  I mean, who pushes parties?

Kelly finally passed her “how to encourage strangers to take other strangers into their house all in the name of eyeliner” test right about the time my boyfriend in the comfy chair beside me and I had to leave.  The man turned to the Mary Kay Goddess to ask her how long she had been doing this gig.  Did her mom know she was skipping school to be working the crowd at Panera?  (he didn’t say that but we were all thinking it!)  He joked about her one day getting the car.

MKGoddess:  I already have it.

With that, she turned to the window and pointed out at the palest pink Cadillac you have ever seen.  She re-glossed and headed out the door. You can only wonder how MANY people she has turned in the bank line, right?

Friday night Kimberly picked me up for the Wild Wine Party that was at Sarah’s house. It took The Boy of all two seconds to smell a rat.

TB: Where are you going, Mom?
K: I’m going to a meeting, buddy. I’ll see you later.
Kimberly: DAMN. That’s a good one. I just told my kids I was going to a Mommy Party.
TB: Mom, are you going to a Mommy Party.
K: Technically, yes. But really it’s a meeting (glaring at Kimberly).
TB: I wanna go with you to the Mommy Party. But it’s just for moms?

Because everything in my house is a discussion. Fastforward to 2 minutes later in the car when I started to bring up the directions to Sarah’s house on my I-Phone. Crap. I remembered a conversation I had with Sarah about the location of her house. Four doors down from my ex-boyfriend. The jilted one. The mean, jilted one. The creepy, mean, jilted one.

Kimberly: We’re driving by.

That’s why I love this woman.

Moments later we are driving down the street. Except I can’t remember the address. And frankly, all the houses were looking the same. On the second driveby, I’m positive that wherever he is in that house, he knows I’m driving by. Even though we haven’t spoken in 5 years.

So we head to Sarah’s house, right around the corner, and we consume lovely wine courtesy of Rony. Kimberly took a picture of all three of my chins and now we aren’t on speaking terms. The entire world would have photoshopped at least one, if not two chins out, but no. If it makes you feel any better, I have gone 2 days without beer and I’m down to two chins.

Then I’m talking to Susan and she points out her sunburn to me. I ask her where she went to get it, bitch, and she says “radiation.” And laughs her ass off. Who’s the bitch now, bitch? She then suggests that we ALL go over to the ex’s house and heckle him from the front yard. Sarah mentions that she knows who he is and she has seen my dog that I never actually had in my possession. I ask how he looked. It was weird.

We then decide, because it is at the END of the wine tasting and now we have tried 7 or 11 wines, that we should do a drive by. We rule out the Petroville Land Cruiser with the blacked out windows because, well, that’s how you get your ass shot in suburbia. Jessica decides that a nice minivan is the way to go. Luckily we have more minivans to choose from than a Chevy lot on Labor Day weekend. We get into the minivan and I tell Leticia that she needs to cover Susan’s body with her own because if Susan has survived cancer and a double mastectomy only to be shot by my ex, well then won’t we all feel bad? Jess mentions that she practically killed Susan on the way over with her driving so we pause to think about how horrible it would be if ANY of us got Susan killed.

Susan? Laughing her ass off.

This happens to be the first time that Stimey has gotten the memo about possible firearms. She lives in Montgomery County (a.k.a. MO CO), also known as the People’s Republic of Montgomery County. She’s trying to graciously figure out a way to head back into the house but now the undercover posse is ready to roll.

Except if you drive down the street in a minivan with the door open, all the lights stay on and you get the hum of the “ding, ding, ding.” Stealth, we spit on you.

I jumped out of the van at the appointed house and ran up to the lamp post I had put in and suddenly the motion detector light that I had installed lit up. Had I known that I was going to be committing a possible misdemeanor at this VERY MOMENT 10 years past installation, I may not have done such a good job.

The girls are heckling me from the car and I start to get a little closer. I whispered, hoping the dog would hear me…”Beau, it’s Mommy. Come to Mommy.”

I didn’t really. That’s what Sarah said I should have said as I was peeing in my pants in the front yard of my crazy ex-boyfriend’s house with the sound of the ‘ding, ding, ding’ of the open minivan door and the cackling of my friends. I freaked out, ran back to the minivan, envisioning a Little Miss Sunshine moment of jumping in the moving van. Except Jess is a mom and she was driving the minivan so we had to close the door, properly do our seatbelts, ect., before she started to move. We drove away, screaming out the windows, “she married up, her husband is SO much cuter than you.”

Those DC Metro Moms? Those girls sure do know how to party. And Sarah? I would hang out with her in the hood any old time.

Bad things happen when you hang out with the Chocolate Fountain Fairy Godmother (hereinafter referred to as the CFFG).  She has these hairbrained IDEAS and then you find yourself at the shop, making Mommy Needs a Glass of Wine chocolate bars and Mommy Needs Chocolate chocolate bars and Mommy Needs a Cocktail chocolate bars.  And did I mention the girl?  The martini girl?  She is TOO CUTE for words.  At a whopping 3 oz. of chocolate, you just want to lie down and die after eating her.  These little numbers.  Better.  It is too crazy.  Then you look at the clock and you realize you have 20 minutes to get home and it is gonna take you at least 25 minutes.  And her latest get-rich-quick-scheme?  I don’t even want to tell you.  I’ll tell you what.  If I end up on Oprah for that hairbrained scheme instead of the MNAC party scheme….I’ll be just fine with it. 

But back to these chocolate bars.  You can buy them wherever you find Mommy Needs a Cocktail (looking at your house, SATGS!!! and hell, you people in Richmond at the Bizarre Bazaar the week after next).  AND…..if you have a MNAC party (or any variation thereof–for all you non-drinkers having the chocolate parties!!).  I know.  I KNOW!!!  Sky, you said to make Mama proud.  I can’t do any better than this….

On a lighter note, my children are insane.  Remember when I said they were working together and using their collective powers for evil?  Oh, it’s getting worse.  The Baby’s skill level in walking is directly proportional to the amount of trouble the two of them get into these days.  Someone got the crazy idea to get the Cheerio’s down from the top of the cabinet in the dining room.  I don’t know why they were there, but needless to say, they are now all over the living room floor.  It seems that after The Boy took his handful, he graciously gave the rest of the COSTCO-SIZED bag to his brother.  His brother proceeded to take large handfuls out and put them in the seat of his highchair.  Apparently saving them for later.  Then he got bored with putting his hand in the bag (what with it being so exhausting) and he just began to shake the 50 oz. bag until the Cheerios got enough velocity going to fly out the top of the bag.  His father?  Thought it was brilliant.  While not his first (or second or even 10th choice), the dog appears somewhat grateful.  Sadly, I was on the couch watching the entire thing.  Yelling “NO SIR” with my outside voice but lacking the energy/conviction to, would it be “punish” him for his dastardly behavior?  All while he is laughing maniacally.  That one is smart.  Keep mom up all night and she’ll be too tired to rip that huge ass bag of Cheerios out of your hand while you send them cascading over furniture. 

Oh, and Tony brought home some Jersey eclairs.  I have to roll to bed now.  Thank you very much. 

God love you, Marelle, for calling me today and asking if I was the pregnant person in the photograph.  Because after our 900 phone calls over the last 8 months, you think I would have told you if I were with child.  Because I am so good at keeping secrets.  HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I don’t THINK SO.  Were it to ever happen again, you all would be the first to know.  Then I could actually find out how frequently The Husband reads my blog.  It could be MONTHS before he found out.  I might have THE BABY before he ever read my blog.  And how cute is the hostess swag for Mommy Needs a Cocktail Parties?  Huh????  Gotta have a party to get this cute little combo….    Still trying to decide if this is hostess swag or if I should sell these.  What do you think?