I woke up on Sunday with my usual hangover. A girl from Bumble I’d been texting with back and forth was telling me I needed to come to brunch. This seemed like a bad idea to begin with to me. I enjoy brunch just as much as the next guy, but my anxiety levels are obviously a little amped up usually with work looming over my head the next day. Combining that anxiety with the prospect of a Bumble date pushed my head into a full blown clusterfuck.
It’s difficult enough hanging out with someone from Bumble you barely know. This experience truly changed everything. There’s a bar I typically frequent at least one night every weekend. On Sunday, they were having “Club Brunch,” which I expected to just be a gathering of their regulars for brunch. My Bumble date urged me to meet her there. So, I decided to give it the old college try.
The door opened swiftly at 12:27 p.m., and Barefoot Blue Jean Night by Jake Owen came blaring into my ear drums. This wasn’t the normal version of the song. No, it was some sort of EDM or dubstep twist. Every door/window was covered to where the bar, like most of its inhabitants, was blacked out completely. The DJ and lights were going as if no one had left from the night before. I was in complete shock at this point and had no idea what I’d gotten myself in to.
Thankfully, they were offering 2-for-1 mimosas and Bloody Mary’s. I was able to stomach two mimosas to calm my nerves before the girl from Bumble arrived. The underlying thought of “What the hell am I doing here?” was continuous in my head. She came in and was just as surprised I was at the scene in the bar. We sat at a booth further away from the DJ.
We both began downing drinks to alleviate the awkwardness that is a Bumble date. Club Brunch was absolutely popping off. One of the try hard liquor reps for the bar was dressed like he was heading to The Kentucky Derby. They brought him up on stage and proceeded to cut off his slacks and turned them into shorts. His button down shirt was torn apart Hulk Hogan style. It was now 3:15 p.m. on Sunday afternoon. What the actual fuck?
Bumble Girl and I were basking in the experience. The spring break-esque environment was actually really helping my cause. As my buzz began to kick in, I noticed the bartenders were walking around with what looked to be firework sparklers every time someone bought a champagne. I immediately decided we had to have one. The allure of a cheap bottle of champagne worked its familiar magic.
Club Brunch had somehow engulfed me at this point. After five hours of steady drinking, I was actually having a good time dancing like a dumbass as any 24-year-old white guy can to the EDM tunes the DJ was cranking out. 6 o’clock came out of nowhere. I decided it was put up or shut up time with Bumble girl. The classic dance floor make-out move was my tried and true option I opted to go with. Thankfully, my small amount of game worked one more time.
I got on my phone to get an Uber at that point to head back to my place with her. We walked outside the bar, and the sun hit me as if I was walking out of some Vegas casino at 6 a.m. the morning after a long night. Club Brunch was easily one of the weirdest days I’ve ever had. But, Goddamnit, I’d probably do it again. .
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