Brick House

Sunday June 27

I'm 9 months pregnant and I'm in a BINGO hall surrounded by co-workers and friends. Right when the stand up comedienne who is dressed up as Bozo the Clown yells out "B12" I start to go into labor. I turn to the local weatherman who's sitting next to me and say, "I don't remember my lower back hurting this bad last time. Oh wait, I had a C-section." It feels like a small tribe of pygmys are spearing my back w/ hot pokers. I turn to find MJ, but only see the clown. Shit, that's one scary looking clown. At that moment, tears begin streaming down my face. Where the hell is MJ? I see the clown coming towards me while the weatherman starts to laugh maniacally. Right when the next contraction comes, my eyes pop open. I look around and see that I'm in my bed at home with MJ next to me sawing logs. Whew! Thank God that it was just a dream. However, my back really does feel like I've done a million pilates moves on a bed of nails.

I roll out of bed and try to do the back stretches my chiropractor showed me. As I lie there on the floor doing my pelvic tilts, I try to imagine that I'm actually doing some stripper moves. The thoughts of me being a stripper quickly move to thoughts of me being a beached whale. At my last appointment, Dr. B told me that I need to stop being such a mom and to start taking care of myself. This would mean getting my ass back to the gym. Part of the reason my back is killing me is because my muscles are still inflamed from Baby Girl being breech. The other part is because I still have so much baby weight in my stomach region. He tells me that once I get the belly fat off, my back should start to feel better. I want to tell him to try having his belly sliced open and having a watermelon removed. Then he can try working full time, getting minimal sleep, and nursing a baby all while trying to keep his house from looking like an episode of "Hoarders". Then, after all of that, he can let me know how easy it is to get to the gym. Good thing he's cute. Otherwise, I may have to slug him.

Post whale stretches, I spend the rest of my morning cuddling on the couch with Baby Girl. I decide to let MJ sleep in since he let me take a nice 2 hour nap yesterday. I'm glued to reading my Blackberry. I found my new form of crack: Twitter. I'm locked in on the celeb tweets as if they were my own group of friends telling me what's going on. I now know that Ramona from Housewives NYC is playing tennis, that Anna Wintour is having some Starbucks, and that Jessica Alba went to a BBQ this weekend. I then see that Holly Madison from "The Girls Next Door" is heading off to church. I laugh at the fact that Hugh Heffner's former girlfriend is going to church after she did her peepshow in Vegas. I realize the real irony in this tweet from Holly. A Playmate is at church while I sit here at home tweeting. I look up at the clock and realize that it's now far too late to even try to make it to Mass. So, it's back to tweeting and baby giggles for me.

MJ comes down the stairs looking like a grizzly bear emerging from a long winter's hibernation. He says groggily: "Thanks for letting me sleep in, Baby. Want to go to Target and try that new Brick House restaurant?" He says the magic word: Target. I instantly feel euphoria at the mere mention of the word. Disney music starts to play while cartoon birds and squirrels enter my living room. Target has it all. They have Starbucks, baby gear, shoes and more. The list just goes on for days. I snap out of my fairytale and take a shower in record speed. Off we go!

We are starving so we decide to eat first and try out the new Brick House Tavern. We are greeted by a line-up of stripper-esque girls who are dressed in denim Daisy Dukes and black plunging belly shirts. I look down at my strapless sundress and suddenly feel like Mrs. Roper in a muumuu. I bet their doctors haven't told them to lose the belly fat. Bitches.

We get seated and a smoking hot twenty-something comes to take our drink order. I get flustered for a moment because I don't know where to look. Her bellybutton ring is right at my eye level and if I look up then I'm starting at her boobs. Looking down isn't any better because then I'm staring at her barely covered crotch. I then laugh b/c I'm sure MJ feels equally awkward. Here he is having lunch in a man's haven with his wife and baby while gorgeous scantily clad ladies are running around. Skimpy clothes aside, the food ends up being awesome. I'm tempted to order the desert called "Double D's" but I remember what Dr. B had said about my belly fat. Besides, I'm an E cup kinda girl now a days anyway. D's are for sissies.

We make our way through my magical land called Target and then head off to Sam's Club. I'm not normally a Sam's or Wal-Mart shopper. This is based on the mere fact that I can't handle the people that shop there. I've always had little to no patience to begin with, but when you add ignorant people to the mix, I'm essentially a bitch with a shopping cart. However, we do need to get something that we can only get at Sam's. We walk in and get what we need to get and decide to walk around for a bit. All the way from across the store, I can see the people swarming like trashy bumble bees around the free sample area. I instantly get irritated at the fact that people act like the free samples are the last pieces of food on earth. I get even more irritated at the fact that the people who are fighting over the last bite of taquitos don't really look like they've skipped a meal. Jillian Michael's would have a field day with these people.

We make our way to the check out when I decide I'm thirsty. I buy one of those 87 cent cups and head over to the fountain drink area. I go to pour my Coke Zero when I feel some guy all up in my business. He's a little weasel of a man who is clearly annoyed that I'm using the Coke Zero dispenser. I think I met my match for someone who is more impatient that me. So, of course I take this opportunity to pour my Coke Zero as slowly as possible. I pour a little of the ice out of my cup and fill. I wait for the fizz to go down. I then fill a little more. I literally feel his breath on my arm, and I realize that I've anoyed him enough. I made my point and smile as I walk over to get my lid. Unfortunately, I'm the one who is now waiting. Billy Bob here in front of me is taking his good ole time as he puts the toppings on his footlong. He ever so nicely leaves behind a big smelly glob of chopped onions and ketchup that I'm forced to reach over while grabbing my lid. I freaking hate Sam's Club. I'm sure that it's God's way of paying me back for both torturing little weasel man and for skipping church this morning.

We're finally home and spend the rest of the evening playing on the floor with Baby Girl. The devil on my shoulder tells me to go and bake some brownies while the angel (who oddly resembles Dr. B) on my other shoulder reminds me of my belly fat. I think of the little hotties at the Brick House and decide to side with with the angel. I grab a banana and promise Baby Girl that I'm going to be a healthy and hot mommy for her. She responds by giggling and grabbing my face. I instantly melt into a puddle and decide to start my floor exercises. I wince through the pain but I am excited to start working out again. Here goes nothing...