Comedy mimics reality, right?

I have a little confession to make–I was never really pregnant. I didn’t just give birth. The whole thing was a hoax. The Get Loweded writers decided to develop Prize Girl Brandi’s character a little. Being the slightly disturbed gentlemen they are, they came up with the pregnancy theme–get prego, get drunk! Being the slightly disturbed woman I am, I decided a fake pregnancy would be a fabulous opportunity to experience what it’s like to be with-child, play with the status quo and push peoples’ boundaries.

I don’t want children, but if I change my mind, there’s no way in hell I’m getting pregnant. Adoption is the way to go; besides helping out a kid, there’s no stretch marks, odd cravings, discomfort, gas, heartburn, bad clothes or vaginal tearing. That last one is big for me. I like my vag, I don’t want to hurt it or risk it not working properly! I don’t hide the fact that I don’t want kids, but for some reason people always try to change my mind. I’ve heard it all from women, “something changes when you hit 30, you’ll see”, “your maternal instincts will kick in, you’ll see”, “I loved being pregnant, you will too”, “I want to be pregnant all the time, it feels so good” and on and on and on.

Pictures from the birth

It all happend from my house to the Re-bar last night

I’m standing on the corner, waiting to cross the street: A guy pulls up, leans over and says through the open passenger window, “Bless yer heart,” smiles, winks and then drives away.

I cross the street and head to the bus stop: There’s a man standing there also waiting for the bus. After a couple minutes he asks, “When are you due?” I smile, “Any time now,” and rub my belly. He banters about how all his friends–regardless of age, 20 to 37–are having babies, “Must be the time,” and on and on about his big family and having to hold babies when he was ten. The bus pulls up, he motions me to get on the bus before him, I take a seat, he wishes me luck and he’s gone.

I get to the next bus stop and have about 10 minutes to wait: There are a few people waiting for the bus, one guy smiles at me, I notice his wedding ring. Two old people are walking little rat-dogs along Denny Way. The woman, who looks 15 years older than she actually is, stares at my belly, stops, rubs her own belly and says, “Wrong time. Wrong time. I’ve had four,” while shaking her finger at me and then just walks away. Wedding ring guy and I look at each other confused and agree that was about the weirdest thing that could have possibly come out of her mouth at that moment in time.

I get on the bus. I make it to the bar. I light a cigarette.

OOhhhhh gawwwwddd!!!

It happened. I gave birth last night, it was horrible! My water broke on stage, there’s blood on my shoe and my dress is ruined.

I already resent the monster. This is a bad start to a long, long relationship.

Angelina stole my look. Bitch.

Choose your time wisely little monster, or else!

I went to the coochie doctor today and he said I could pop at any time!!!!! GET LOWEDED is Monday, so it better happen in like ten minutes or not until after the show. I’m not missing the “Get Loweded Thanks the Bar Industry” show for anything!

Oh gawd, I just thought of something…

What if it happened AT THE SHOW?!?!?!?!? That would be SOOOOOOOOO embarrassing! Ah, I’d die! What if my water broke when I was bringing someone a prize, or when I was passing out free shots. And then there’s the mucous plug. OH MY GAWWWWWD. I can’t even think about it! I’m crossing everything-fingers, toes, arms, legs, eyes-that that doesn’t happen.

Damn monster. If it decided to come during the show, I’m kickin’ it to the curb.

Not your average shower

To all of you who came to the Monster Mash, THANKS! It was a blast!

Friday was full of free drinks, pictures with friends and strangers, phone numbers, kisses on the belly, punches to the belly (ouch fucker!), accusations, glares, stares, laughs, cigarettes and a whole lot more that’s too graphic to speak of.

Couldn’t have asked for more.
xxoxox!

Baby shower, shmaby shower

Let’s call it what it really is…a MONSTER MASH!!! Or Monster Smashed, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it’s this Friday!

My friends decided to celebrate the fact that I got knocked up! Join us in the fun, but only if you a) bring a present for the soon-to-arrive devil, b) bring me a present because I’m the one who’s lived in hell the past 8.5 months, or c) buy me (and the little one) a drink!

We’ll be in Ballard and I shouldn’t be hard to miss, what with the belly stickin’ out n’ all.

WTF

Some guy told me he didn’t know if he’d find me as attractive once the monster is born. Was that a compliment?An insult? What the fuck was that?

Big belly, big hangover

Well, I didn’t go into premature labor at this month’s GET LOWEDED like I’d hoped. Although, by the end of the night I felt like my stomach was about to burst open…I think it was due to all the whiskey shots. The monster, like me, apparently enjoys sipping straight liquor rather than throwing it down the hatch quick-n-dirty style.

It took me two days to recover from Monday night’s debauchery. I don’t get it, I mean, I did all the right things. I drank straight liquor so as not to have a sugar hangover, smoked filtered cigarettes instead of my usual rollies, got home and ate a quesadilla, drank a big cup of water, swallowed some IBUs and passed the fuck out. So why did I not feel normal until today? Wait…I know. It’s not just me recovering from an excessive night of partying, it’s me and the monster. Two drunks, one body. I keep forgetting that.

Partying at eight months pregnant is tough. When the bar is packed, it’s so hard moving through the crowd. What I’ve found works best is yelling “WATCH OUT, PREGNANT GIRL COMING THROUGH.” People stop dead in their tracks, look at me, sort of half-smile and then step back to let me pass. I suggest trying it sometime, it’s not uncomfortable at all.

I’ve got one more month of this inconvenience. I’ll spare you the details of the weird things my body is doing at present to accommodate the bastard, I mean monster. Yes, I know who the father is. At least I think I do. I haven’t talked to him much since, well, you know…

I’ve been giving some thought to water births and if I go that route, I want to do it outside somewhere. Do you think it’s safe to do it in a hot tub? I was envisioning me, my midwife, a couple bottles of champange and some bad rap music playing on my ghetto blaster. You know when you drink in a hot tub how it makes you super drunk, super quick? Perfect, right? And Easy E in the background will remind me of the life I can get back to.

I can’t wait! No more scarlet letter, dirty looks, brash comments, points, stares or ass slaps. Wait, I like ass slaps–I think that’s what got me here in the first place–hope those don’t stop.

Potential midwife?

more pics of the Get Loweded family:

http://www.usnaps.com/

special code: rebar

The one thing I want to come early

I’m getting so excited for GET LOWEDED this month! I’ve heard that if you get too excited or too worked up, you can go into premature labor. I’m keeping my fingers crossed!

http://myspace.com/getloweded

One month to go, don’t be a ho!

My ribs huuuuuurt! I swear the monster, that’s what I’m calling it now, is taking a kick-boxing class inside my uterus. More technically speaking, I found out that, “Your uterus — which was entirely tucked away inside your pelvis when you conceived — now reaches up under your rib cage. If you could peek inside your womb, you’d see that there’s more baby than amniotic fluid in there now. Your ballooning uterus is crowding your other internal organs, too, which is why you probably have to urinate more often and may be dealing with heartburn and other gastrointestinal distress.”

I hate this process. Anyone who says they looooovvveee being pregnant is a damned liar. On the increased urination front, I had to use the El Corazon bathroom more times than I could count Saturday night. It was totally disturbing. There’s no squatting above the nasty toilet when you’re eight months prego, gravity just doesn’t work that way. Basically, I got drunk enough to forget what was crawling around on the dreaded seat.

I thought when you’re pregnant, people shower you with gifts, run out at any given moment to get you food from WHEREVER you want and give you foot rubs all day. Not the case at all. Not once has anyone offered to go get me Ezell’s fried chicken or a pineapple shake from Gordo’s. Not a single person has touched my feet, although, I don’t blame them–they probably look like hell since I haven’t even been able to see them for months. And most irritating of all, NO GIFTS. WTF!?! Everyone likes buying things. It’s America, that’s what we do. So, buy me things. This monster’s gonna need clothes/shoes(I wear Vans size 7 if you want to get me a matching pair)/food/toys and a whole lot more. I’m registered at Babies”R”us, Target, Fred Meyer, Wal-Mart, Super KMart, ShopKo, Costco and Sam’s Club. Buy in bulk, I’m gonna need it!

I’ve got to pee, but one more thing before I forget, which is another side effect, you literally lose your ability to retain information. Anyways, I just got the best news today. I can still have sex! I thought it was dangerous to do it in the third trimester, but according to Google it’s just fine! And according to the Google Image search, the positions look pretty fun too!

So, I’ll leave it at that for today. My ribs hurt, I have to pee all the time, I’ve got heartburn and gastrointestinal distress, no one is pampering me, but I can still have sex. Think I’ll be able to pick someone up, say, at the next Get Loweded?

The baby’s first picture

Does this look odd to anyone else??? Do you think I should be concerned?

pc

Pictures from the March Get Loweded!

Take a look at the madness!

Photos by Heather Christianson

Wow, what happened last night?

My gawd, drinking and smoking for two does not make for an easy next day at work. I probably shouldn’t have gotten that bloody mary at last call, but the way I see it, vegetables are good for the baby.

Have I told you how awkward it is to sleep at seven months pregnant? Sleeping on my stomach is impossible. Sleeping on my side is great…until the baby starts kicking me in the kidney which means I have to use all my sleepy force to roll onto my other side. It’s a nightmare!

I got home after 2 a.m., climbed in bed around 3 a.m. and heard the alarm go off at 7 a.m. Way too many a.m.’s in one sentence.

And then there’s the hunger. I wake up and the “I’m hungover and everything under the sun sounds good–salty, sweet, spicy, hot, cold–I want it all!” mentality kicks in and what can I do but partake? I mean, I’ve got a baby to think about and I’m sure it’s feeling the same way I do, like shit. If I don’t eat a literal ton of food this instant, I might DIE.

Are a double americano and a handful of IBUs bad for the baby? I’ve got the shakes, this isn’t good.

The show is coming up, what am I going to do?

Monday is the next Get Loweded. St. Patrick’s Day and Get Loweded on the same day. I predict a bunch of drunk American mutts hoping for a little luck-of-the-Irish to take over and get them all laid. Hope they’ve got rubbers because let me tell ya, it’s no fun getting knocked up. Well, it’s fun in the process and then annoying in the aftermath.

I’m seven or eight months along now and I’m having a hell of a time finding a dress for Monday’s show. I mean, I’ve got to look hot up on that Get Loweded stage. How else am I going to get a date when I’ve got a huge heap of responsibility leading my every move? You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find a dress that’s tight, sexy, sequined and big enough to accommodate the belly. I don’t want to resort to the mu-mu. I won’t do it!

And the hostility…The looks. The whispers. Just buy me a drink already! I’m the one who can’t tie my own shoes, has an embarrassingly huge grocery bill and a weird looking belly button now that the piercing has stretched out.

This is so not going to help me meet a hunk at Golden Gardens this summer…Dammit!

The first time out

Don’t get pregnant and hang out in bars:You’re likely to buy a drink and get dirty looks.

I started showing a month ago and it’s weird how people act around a prego belly. We’ve all heard it before, but seriously, just because there’s a monster growing in my uterus doesn’t give you a free pass to touch me. It’s my stomach, not yours. Do I need to start wearing a “This is a hands-free zone” t-shirt when I leave the house?

Let me back up a bit.

This little adventure began in August at Get Loweded’s inaugural show. I’m the prize girl for the “game show for professional drinkers,” and it’s a pretty fun and easy gig–wear a sparkling dress circa 1989, have a few drinks, pass out prizes as needed. One of the features of the show is The Hookup where two audience members are selected to sit in a romantic booth, watch the show and then decide if they’re going to go their separate ways or Hook up! Makes sense, right? Because drinking and hooking up pretty much go hand in hand. Anyway, I wasn’t in The Hookup in August, but that didn’t stop me from, well, hooking up and now six months later my belly is growing to huge proportions and my bad prom dresses aren’t fitting like they should.

And if feeling like a fat ass weren’t bad enough, people keep giving me dirty looks! Yeah I’m pregnant. Yeah I’m havin’ a drink. Deal with it. It happens in Europe and seems to me they have their shit pretty well figured out. They smoke and drink all the time and their life expectancy rates are higher than ours.

Which brings me to a funny story.

Monday night I’m waiting for Get Loweded to start and I’m standing outside the Re-bar smoking. It’s early, no one’s at the bar yet, I’m standing on the sidewalk all alone in a black, form-fitting sequined dress. Before long, a little red car drives by and the woman driving literally slow to a tortoise’s pace and stares me down, head turning fully around as she passes me. My first reaction was to flip her off, “Why the hell are you looking at me!?!” and then I remembered the baby bump.

A while later, after the band started playing, I got my drink and noticed people looking at me. Not nicely looking at me, more puzzled and disapproving looking at me. WTF? Oh yeah, I’ve got a six month growth on my stomach guiding me through the bar. People really don’t like to see pregnant chicks drinking.