Remember that annoying song from your childhood…
“This is the song that never ends.
It goes on and on my friends.”
I am gonna need you to keep that somewhere in the back of your minds as I weave a little tale for you called, The Brunch That Never Ends.
This past weekend I embarked on what I think is the last of the Bachelorette Parties I will ever have the pleasure of attending. Three days post party my brain is still not back to sharp. On Monday I twisted my ankle walking and walked into the glass door twice. If you pay close attention to me at school pick up you will all notice that I am hobbling around like a cowboy from being in high heels for 72 hours straight. Man these excursions are hard work. They really take dedication, and probably some training. I think it’s safe to say I am ready to close this chapter of my life.
So we celebrating our beautiful (final) bachelorette in the glorious city of Chicago. It was here that the never ending brunch occurred. I hadn’t even planned on attending brunch Saturday morning, moving before noon after a rowdy, liquored up night isn’t exactly my thing. I am not known for my ability to get up and rally the morning after. Yet, by some miracle (and probably a bit of coaxing and persuasion) I did drag my ass from bed and put on pants with buttons and slathered on the make up.
My lady friends and I strolled on down a few blocks from our hotel to our brunchy location arriving at eleven.
There was already a line formed outside of the building.
With a giant bouncer standing guard checking Ids.
Hmmmm. Strange. I thought to myself. If I am being honest I wasn’t doing all that much thinking at this point in my hazy life considering the brain cells I had probably killed off the evening before had not started to regenerate quite yet. Looking forward to some greasy eggs, bacon, coffee and a Mimosa we entered the Fremont and were escorted to the second level.
Damn. Further from the food.
And just like that we were clubbing…at 11 am. Lounge seating, bars at every corner, DJ booth in the center of the room club, definitely a club. The host/manager/whatever he was explained that this wasn’t a “sit-down” brunch, but more of a “social brunch.” Who knew that there were various levels in Brunch-land! Not I.
We trucked it back downstairs to fill up our plates and this was when I really started to take the whole scene in. Millennials everywhere. Crop top, spandex wearing twenty-three year olds filled the room. The girl, (and I mean girl) behind me in line asked the server if he was slicing up steak.
No you dumbass! It’s Prime Rib. Have you never fucking brunched before?
Back up to our swanky lounge couch we went where we sat, chatted and ate. Oh yeah…and drank. No coffee, no Lattes (they didn’t even serve them at this place) just bottomless Mimosas. Every time I took more than three sips from my glass and blinked our tiny little waitress (who looked just like Princess Jasmine) was there filling my glass back up. Then the DJ started in. Before noon the room was packed with twenty year olds boozing and bumpin’ and grindin’ to brunch. Into the timeless vortex of Champagne and gangstar rap we tumbled. One of our girlfriends who lives in the city finally made it over to her purse only to notice five missed calls from her husband. “I thought you were going out for eggs?” he asked.
So did I Nick….so did I.
Ironically I had no eggs, bacon, biscuits nor coffee that day. What I did have was five non-stop hours (yes FIVE hours) of Champs, girlfriends, blaring music, laughs and love at the strangest, most awesome brunch I have ever been to.
Never doing it again, but glad I did it.
The Tale of Mummyhood