Black Iron Bitches Brunch

Who can be bothered with her daily walk when she has girlfriends to meet for brunch?

The Monument Avenue 10K had caused us to scrap our plans to meet at 821 (hence last night's visit) and try Lunch instead, despite a 40-minute wait when we arrived.

Ho-hum, just another Saturday morning at Lunch.

With umbrellas overhead and plenty to start talking about, our trio would have waited longer than that.

As if turned out, it wasn't even ten minutes before we were offered three seats at the bar and all was right with the world.

The music was set to solid gold soul - Dusty Springfield, Stevie Wonder- and our only wish was that it was louder.

I was the only one who hadn't brought major news but the other two had plenty. One is about to get a big, juicy promotion where she'll get to run things efficiently instead of pushing paper and the other is seeing a new (and very handsome) man, the best kisser she's ever had.

Hold on to a good kisser, my dear, because it bodes well for other things.

There were plenty of post-10K runners in there but between the three of us, we don't have one athletic bone in our bodies, so while they may have been eating the runner's special of an egg white omelet, we were more into real food- Nutella French toast, Greek omelets, the Ike with a monster pile of potato chips.

They talked about how a few drinks (or even caffeine) before shopping loosens a girl's wallet, but since I hate shopping, I stayed out of that one. Our server complimented my friend's cute glasses, recognizing them as the exact same ones she has. On more philosophical matters, we tried to figure out why guy friends never go to brunch together.

After plowing through our food, we set about coordinating upcoming music events: the great busk, a new Turkish band, a loud feminist punk band. Not the kinds of shows you want to be left out of.

Since it seemed rude to linger at the bar when people were waiting outside to get in, we took our post-meal conversation out to the sidewalk for a while.

Being better at the girl thing than I am, one was off to go shoe shopping and the other to go thrifting while I was returning to the Byrd for another French film.

Lady Luck was with me because I found a prime parking space next to Coppola's and managed to slide into an aisle seat for "Demi Soeur" with a minute to spare.

Taking up residence next to me were two young guys, one of whom commented, "This looks good!" when the opening credits began and all we could see was a church spire.

Optimist or French film expert, it was hard to tell.

But he was right about the sweet comedy about a mentally challenged woman (and her pet turtle, Tootie), Nenette, trying to find her father after her mother dies and instead finding her half brother, a lonely, introverted man with an ordered life but no friends or contact with his own family.

Because it was French and things like this never happen in American movies, the woman gets lost in the woods and stumbles on a rave with a screaming band called the Black Iron Bitches thrashing onstage while people on Ecstasy dance hypnotically.

It's through meeting the Bitches that she ends getting a makeup job from Too Much, the lead singer (a black star on her eye and deep plum colored lipstick on an old woman look pretty interesting), along with a bag of Ecstasy when the cops arrive mid-show.

It's that drug which she uses as sweetener in her brother's coffee, having been told that's what it is, that causes him to see everything and everyone in a new light. It was most definitely a ringing endorsement for drug use to affect a better personality.

He ends up having a euphoric day, the best of his life, with his half sister at the seashore, releasing his pet hermit crabs to the ocean and visiting and trying to make amends with his ex-wife and son from whom he's been estranged.

It wasn't a deep movie and it's not likely to be as memorable as any of the other films I've seen this time around at the FFF.

But I like to think that watching a sweet parable about what matters in life kind of counts as doing something  girly after brunch.

It also gives me an idea for what my brunch buddies and I can call ourselves from here on out.