So the NBA bubble thing is weird. And the social justice messaging on the jerseys is dumb. So dumb. SO DUMB. But I am also weird and dumb, and I am fascinated by the uncanny valley of the NBAās reboot. The crowds are computer-generated avatars! Some people in the gyms are wearing masks and some arenāt, which seems not productive at all! Joe Ingles has āAllyā on his jersey. This is strange as fuck, and I love it!
But letās forget about that right now. Instead letās talk about brunch! I miss it so much. And no, I donāt give many shits about brunch culture, which is different than brunch. Brunch culture is business cards with too many titles. Itās waiting in a line only because you assume the place must be lit if thereās a line. Itās bottomless. Itās bigen. Itās D.C. niggas, basically.
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No, Iām a brunch purist. I like to wear nice clothes to brunch too, but for me brunch is about the food. I donāt give a shit whoās there. I donāt even give a shit about whoās with me. Iāll brunch all by myself. I treat brunch like how female protagonists in Tyler Perry movies treat life. I DONāT NEED NO MAN WITH ME…UNLESS HEāS A GOD-FEARING, LIGHT-SKINNED MECHANIC! Just point me to the waffle station, the omelette station, and the niggas who cut meat and shit station, and Iām good.
Which is why I need to hit whichever brunch spot LeBron James was headed to last night. How do I know he went to brunch somewhere? Because this is the optimal brunch-fit. Fashionable, but breezy and comfortable enough to stuff your stomach with beignets. It is also the walk of someone who just got a text telling him his table is ready. He looks both urgent and UNBOTHERED. And also maybe hungry!
Plus, last summer was the first time I was confident enough to wear above-the-knee shorts in public. And now thereās nowhere to wear above-the-knee shorts anymore! Iām not going to bare my thigh meat in Giant Eagle.
Anyway, I miss brunch food. I miss brunch-fits. I miss post-brunch naps. I need brunch back!
Straight From
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