Ready for a mind fuck? Have brunch at the club you were partying at the night before. You walk in and all of the sudden you get a flashback of making out with some random dude in a booth that is now filled with respectable adults – nice.
Since we brunch every fricken weekend, when we have a celebration we need something to make it extra memorable, which is why we themed this brunch Tropical House – cue Thomas Jack. Want to know the best thing about Tropical themed brunches? Everyone gets leid!! (Lame joke we know but come on we couldn’t help it.)
Obviously, we were about an hour late to brunch, we’re late to everything, but how can your friends stay mad when you walk in wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a pineapple? And brunch has no limit, we’re staying until the last drop of mimosa is poured and they kick us out so the DJ can start setting up again for the night.
What makes a great brunch? Obviously the food, the drinks, and your degenerate friends, but something that can be overlooked when choosing a brunch, especially one with +15 hammered 20-somethings, is the service. I can’t say how many times I have looked at our poor waiter with pity for what he/she is about to endure; it is not an easy job trying to keep up with the rate at which we down these mimosas. So when we get a cute, attentive, and patient waiter what else are we going to do but leave our phone number…although, usually you drop the digits on the check and dip quickly and hope for a text, of course, that’s not our style.
While most of the group is ready to leave, The Babes insist on finishing the last mimosas on the table – because NEVER leave a drink behind. So we stay back and casually try and finish our (bottomless) mimosas and flirt with our waiter. Note: you can’t finish bottomless mimosas unless you tell your waiter to stop filling your glass (but really who is going to do that) or get kicked out of the establishment (which is what actually happened last time at this restaurant).
At this point, we are far gone, have no concept of time, and have stayed at the table for another hour chatting with the waiter and drinking the place dry we ask the waiter why he moved to Denver. His answer, “To be with his girlfriend.” BOOM the girlfriend bomb drops, I think it’s time to go.
Oh, ready for just one more mind fuck? On Monday when you finally get up the balls to look at your credit card statement and you wonder why your brunch spot charged you so many times you then realize you bought three $9 drinks on Friday night on top of a $60 brunch tab – fuck.
Brunch Spot/Night Club:
Ophelia’s Electric Soapbox – shout-out to our waiter, Cassidy, call us when you’re single.