Later that evening, walking towards an unfamiliar house on Shiprock, I hesitated and almost turned back. Would these ladies like me? Sporting a post-pregnancy belly and feeling less than fabulous, I pushed past my insecurity and knocked on the door. Immediately, I wondered what fresh hell I had gotten myself into. The hostess (and her home) were so impeccably gorgeous I suppressed a groan. As I descended the stairs into the basement, I spied seven beautiful women holding glasses of pineapple infused vodka. Clearly, I was invited to the wrong party (as I was standing there in sweatpants, clutching a bag of corn chips).