Not so Sunday funday | QC After Dark

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Not so Sunday funday

Posted By on Tue, Mar 22, 2016 at 12:23 PM

“What smells like hot mustard?” my friend asked as we waited by the bar for a beer. “Me. That would be me,” I said as I looked down at my leggings where fallen mustard had dried. It was Sunday around 6 p.m. and I was starting to think maybe I didn’t need that beer after all. My plan for staying fairly sober and not spending a lot of money all weekend had officially been thrown out the window. Whoever thought “Sunday funday” was a good idea definitely lied.

Literally a week ago, I was attempting to gather myself after a long brunch filled with bottomless mimosas. I had a few college friends visiting from out of town, we were celebrating St. Patty’s Day, drinking as if we were still in school and getting very little sleep. On Monday, before heading back to their respective homes, they dropped me off at my company’s new office Uptown. Every day, I had to wake up an hour earlier than normal to make sure I wasn’t late and secure public transportation.

(Side note: Parking is ridiculous Uptown. There is not one, but two trolleys, the red line and the gold line, that provide free transportation in the city. And the light rail only has a handful of stops where you can “Park & Ride.”)

Needless to say, by hump day, I was exhausted. The boyfriend and I were looking forward to a weekend of sleeping in with few commitments.

We’d spent the past month spending more money, eating out and consuming more alcohol than we’d liked. So we were excited about an adult weekend where going out wasn’t the focus.

Friday was a win. We both got off work early, he packed a bag for my place and then headed home where we ended up passing out before 10 p.m.

The next morning, we visited the newest addition to his family, a beautiful second nephew and headed to Harris Teeter for breakfast ingredients. I made my version of croque madame and we napped the afternoon away. Even after he left for a basketball tournament, I remained immobile in front of the TV. When he returned, we warmed up a Teeter meal and passed out. And just like that, Saturday ushered in yet another win.

By Sunday, there was a spirit of anxiety as we left an early morning basketball tournament and his friend turned and asked, “Where are y’all going to watch the game?” I thought to myself, “Uh-oh. This isn’t going to be good.” The Ohio State-Florida game started at noon, right when you can legally be served your first drink in North Carolina. Not only did that mean there was no time for a nap, but Sunday funday would be in full effect.

Hoping to avoid the hoopla that is associated with All American Pub and Slate Billiards on a Sunday in South End — and to choose a spot with tastier food — I suggested Draught in Third Ward right outside of Bank of America Stadium. I hopped online to check out their brunch menu and immediately spotted faves for the boyfriend and I: French toast and corned beef hash. Yeah, it was definitely happening.

Apparently, if you get to Draught around noon you can snag a table or seats at the bar which is a big deal considering how packed they can get on game days. As soon as we sat down I knew what kind of Sunday brunchday it was going to be. The DJ was blasting the perfect combination of old school faves and new school mixes. And then our bartender uttered the words, “Bottles of champagne are $15.” And when I say a mimosa consisted of a splash of OJ, I mean a splash. Uh-oh.

Before I knew it, the game was over and we were headed to The Blind Pig in NoDa where I was dragged into playing beer pong — a game I never resort to playing when I want to get drunk. Two rounds and two Gatorade shots later, I had only hit one cup — that was out of play — and was starting to drunk Snapchat.

Not long after, we were in line at VBGB in AvidXchange Music Factory ordering brats and boneless chicken tenders.

While attempting to nestle our order number in my boyfriend’s arm before heading to the bar, I knocked an entire side of mustard out of his hand and onto my leggings and shoes. Did that stop me from ordering a shot or another beer? Nope.

It wasn’t until the quiet ride home after a drunk argument with the boyfriend that I realized, Sunday really isn’t a funday or smartday for drinking. And Queen City brunch will continue to be the death of me.

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