My friend Angela is brilliant.

Do you ever kick yourself for not thinking of something first? Not literally, of course. My friend Angela happened to mention the other day that she was sipping her regular afternoon iced coffee while we were talking on the phone. Every morning, I have a cup of coffee or three six. The final cup usually gets ignored until it gets cold. So I heat it up in the microwave. But I forget about it, so I have to heat it up again. When I first got this microwave, I thought that problem was solved, because it beeps periodically until you open the door. Much like people who set their clocks ahead to combat lateness, I've outsmarted the system. I open the door after it beeps the first time, without removing the coffee. Then I close the door, planning to return in just a second for my coffee. Thirty minutes later, in search of my now cold coffee, I find it, right there in the damn microwave where I left it. Angela is smarter than that. Rather than let her leftover coffee fester, she freezes it in ice cube trays. In the afternoon, she adds milk. Voilà! Undiluted iced latté!

By the way, the rumors are true. All us lazy*ss stay at home mothers do is yak on the phone and drink coffee all day. While painting our toenails. While the kids are parked in front of a movie. True, all true. I know, as an avid reader of my blog (you are, aren't you?), you thought I did fun stuff all day long. You probably think I drink all day long. I know my mother thinks I do, because she recently told me to lay off the booze. Incidentally, she still hasn't offered to keep my kids, even though they would be in serious danger if I drank as much as she thinks I do. In truth, those three glasses of wine I claim are somewhat of an exaggeration. Except those times when the three glasses are actually a hair more. That's denial. But I digress.

I don't write about the boring times*. Who wants to hear about the time I woke up, made breakfast, had a boring semi-fight with my husband, went to the gym, went some other places and did boring stuff, went home and paid the babysitter, sat around doing nothing while Baby J napped, picked up the big kids from school, supervised homework, made dinner, ate it, cleaned it up, took a shower, blogged in bed while watching "The L Word**" and went to sleep? Or the time I talked on the phone to my friend, experienced mild jealousy over her iced coffee technique and decided to try it myself. Which I did, by the way. I froze the coffee this morning. I'll let you know how it comes out. I know you are on the edge of your seat!

I once met someone who only knew me through reading my blog. It was surreal and kind of difficult. I didn't feel entertaining enough. I also felt like an uptight nerd, as she regaled me with her own tales of partying with her kids. I found myself wanting to lecture her. And I also felt guilty, like I was encouraging irresponsible parenting. Public Service Announcement: The children come first. You should always behave responsibly. Really! Although it's okay to exaggerate on your blog for effect. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Speaking of rock star parenting, my husband and I are looking forward to the (sold out!) Slow Foods Benefit dinner at Terra tonight. I plan to drink too much, eat too much and cuss, all while wearing a skirt that's a little too short and a see through shirt. Whooooo! And the kids can just sit in the car, so we can save on babysitting. Guess what? That was a joke. We do have a babysitter and my poor husband is stuck, as always, being my designated driver. Now I just have to figure out how to get out of the house without the kids seeing my bordering-on-hookerish outfit. Anyone have a trench coat I can borrow?

Namasté, y'all!

* You might disagree. But I try not to be boring, so give a blogger a break, m'kay?

** Well, that's kind of exciting, if you're into the idea of straight housewives having secret lesbian tendencies. Whatever. I just like a good, stylish soap opera. I liked "Footballer$ Wives," too. Doesn't make me a coke whore. Or the wife of a hot, European soccer player. I wish.