This is got to be the fifth biggest margarita I've ever drank in my life.

Today is going to be a busy day for me, readers. I have to start the morning off by driving to B.F. Mandeville for half an hour. No, B.F. does not stand for "best friends" or "bean fries." It should be worth hauling my ass out the door by 8, strapping a cranky 11 month old in the back seat, and listening to baby screams drowning out my radio and all the thoughts in my head about Gee, I wish I would have curled my hair after all because I look like a cavewoman. Should be.

Why? Because we're going to Ducky Joe's! I found a stay-at-home mother's group on meetup.com the week after we moved to Slidouche. It's just me and two other moms with an occassional pop-in now and then from somebody else. But mostly it's 7 other women who stand us up the morning of. This week, we're meeting at Ducky Joe's Indoor Playground! It looks like so much fun. I'm going to dress up and play in the castle.

After I make an ass of myself and/or get kicked out of Ducky Joe's for breaking the bouncy house. I'm heading back to fit in some time at the gym because I skipped Thursday which was supposed to be moved up because I was going to go today but can't because of the playdate being too far away so it just makes a time paradox that opens up another dimension behind a Ruby Tuesday's.

Now, after I turn my legs to jelly working out and get back home with Michael(who will be undoubtedly fussy and overtired from the hot mess of activities for the day) I have to get ready for a girls' night out.

I know you're thinking That sounds like fun. Nope. I'm nervous as tarnation. I'm going out with the two moms mentioned above (sans babies) where we'll be going out past my bedtime and drinking...

Margaritas.

Margaritas and I have an on-again off-again relationship. I love them, but they just can't commit to not making me act a fool. Next thing you know I'm drunk-ass, telling the world what color underwear I'm sporting.

Now, most of you know that I'm an open book. I publicly announce every interesting detail of my daily happenings to entertain you adoring fans. However, these chicks actually like me right now and I think it's because I'm quiet. I don't chime in every time my brain thinks up some random saying, that would make for great bloggage, because I know that it is socially inappropriate to say most things that I think up.

So, here's to the real me who's gonna be making out with a Margarita tonight between spiels of how awesome my blog is and why they should read it.

We're going to be Rock Stars. But first... we must burgle.

Due to our current inability to sell or rent out our house, we may have no dollars soon. Naturally, Dom and I decide to splurge on an early Christmas present to ourselves because that makes sense.

Seriously, we're bad with money. I once bought 6 years worth of magazine subscriptions over the phone to enter a contest that required no sales obligation. Now I have Redbook, Elle, and Interview until 2010. I'm a total sucker and usually fall for sales pitches unless I hang up on the poor guy before he finishes his first sentence. That's why I spent a 3 hour evening with a vacuum salesman--he offered me a 6 pack of free paper towels.

What did we buy, you ask? Oh, just Guitar Hero--Legends of Rock. Oh yeah, I'm totally badass. I mean actually bad and ass all at the same time because I suh-huck. Easy? Easy is not easy. Easy is just hard light.

I have to concentrate so hard that I barely move and my face does this one-eyed-squinty look while I bob my head to the beat. Pathetic. Meanwhile, Dom's freaking shredding the crap out of some metal song--and I'm struggling to strum and hit at least one note at the same time for "Barracuda." At one point yesterday he stood up on the couch and now he's moved on to making laps around the living room. I bet next he's going to beat a hard song strumming via telepathic powers.

I'm a Guitar Lame-O. I'm the victim who the Guitar Hero has to save from the burning building set aflame by my inadequacy. Here's a video: