I hate brunch. There, I said it – sue me, kill me, stare incredulously in horror. Brunch sucks my b-hole. You know what I love though? Bullet points; those perfectly aligned little dots really rev my engine. So here’s a concise list of bullet points outlining why brunch is THE WORST.
- Too much yap yappity yapping, and the volume at which said yapping occurs. Feinbergs do NOT do well in groups of 3 females or more, and brunch is usually overrun with tables of 4 or more chickenheads in jeggings, boots, big scarves and even bigger sunglasses running their pieholes about impending weddings, man troubles, money woes, and department store clothing. Does that sound fun to you? Does it??
- Omelettes. Listen, I’ve tasted great omelettes in my life (Crook’s Corner in Chapel Hill NC, I’m lookin’ at you), so don’t tell me I just haven’t tried a good one. If you’re not eating at the speed of sound they get cold and overly firm 5 minutes after hitting the table. And unless the poor hack in the kitchen has been properly French trained, they’re usually too dry and contain waay too many ingredients. Egg, cheese, 2 minutes on the skillet, a tap tap of the wrist, THAT’S IT. Huevos rancheros jumbo omelette with everything and the kitchen sink?? NO.
- Half-assed day drinking. I’m all for day drinking, I’d go so far as to call it a Simple Pleasure. But brunch too often means 2 hours, 2 bloody marys, then people go off to do “errands” or go shopping. Lame-o. If I’m adding booze to my day I want to commit, find a good bar bar, drink Guinness and pretend to watch whatever’s on the jumbo screen until it’s time for quality HBO/AMC Sunday night programming.
- The breakfast/lunch conundrum. If I order a breakfast item I wish I had ordered lunch. If I order a lunch item I wish I had ordered breakfast. Pancakes or turkey club? Lox and bagels or burger? Scrambled eggs and breakfast sausage with a side of waffles? A dozen oysters?? Challah French toast??? Tuna patty melt???? Ahhh too difficult!!
- Cheap mimosas. Scratch that, cheap OJ in general. I try not to drink mimosas as a rule (I’m a savory, not a sweets girl), but being in the presence of crappy mimosas is enough to make my blood boil, reminds me of too many frat-tastic Kegs n’ Eggs parties in college where we woke up early and pretended to give 2 shits about our lame football team while boys drank ice cold Natty and girls drank Andre and Minute Maid orange juice FROM CONCENTRATE. I only overlook the fact that this is Babygirl’s drink o’ choice because we come from the same womb.
I probably haven’t convinced enough of you to stop the brunch madness, and will continue to be alone in my principles. It’s fiiiiiine, while you’re swilling the cheap shiz and gulping down lukewarm egg product I’ll be kicking ass and taking names at the gym or shootin’ BBs with Larry in the HoH, tippy top style.
See ya on the flip side, biznatches!