What The “Hip” Kids Do…
I am what they call “an old soul.” I don’t know who “they” are and I don’t know why I am the old one. Why aren’t other 24 year olds just “young souls”?? I feel like I’m right on par. But I am guess I’m wrong because I have had plenty of people throughout my life tell me that I am too old for my age. I’ve had plenty of posts about being old… see here or here or here or here or here… (there are more, but I’ll stop) so I’m not going to prove to you why I’m an “old soul”… just trust me on this.
Because I’m too old for my age, I’m not very hip. I rely on Facebook statuses to keep me in the know. And pictures. I often see girls in outfits and think “I don’t know how to dress like that…” – of course I often see outfits that make me sick to my stomach and pray that I don’t have girls. (Just kidding God, I’d be okay with a girl… but just one… and can she please wait until college to be hot? Thanks…) But the truth is, I’m not very fashionable. If you take my entire wardrobe and throw it in a pile, you can sort it into the following categories: t-shirts, jeans, things from Old Navy or Target, things my mom or sister picked out, gym shorts, things that I’ve had for over 4 years. One word to describe it: Safe.
So when Lyndsey told me that we were going to a fashion show while we were in KC, I got excited. I can get ideas. I’m a great brainstormer. If someone else shows me how to do it, I can do it. So I bought a safe black dress at Ross and wore my red heels. (Big mistake. Huge! I’m still suffering the consequences of that decision… 5 blisters. Oh boy!) So we took a cab over to West 18th Street – turns out, the fashion show was outdoors. (First clue that these particular shoes were a bad decision.) Standing room only. I noticed all of the clothes people are wearing. Some were really cute. Some were… interesting. Remember yesterday when we were talking about my view from where I was? Okay well here was my view:
That’s a rooster. In a kennel. You can’t make this stuff up. I should have taken a picture of my view of the people in front of me. But some people might think that’s rude. So I’ll just tell you my favorite. A guy in short blue shorts that had a rainbow waistband, no shirt, something ridiculous on his feet (I can’t remember), and a Ninja Turtle backpack purse. And someone in his group hadn’t showered in approximately 6.73 days.
8:00 finally comes and goes and the shows starts. This is what we see first:
I am almost certain that I have never seen any Facebook pictures with these outfits… so I’m pretty sure that they aren’t the newest thing. But I bite my tongue just in case. Two more ladies is similar attire come out. They sing a song that had about 14 lyrics, repeated about 72 times. Since when is there singing at a fashion show? Not that I’ve been to a million or anything. I’m just saying. Then some woman comes out wearing something ridiculous that I know doesn’t qualify as “breathable clothing.” She welcomes everyone and the three of us release a big sigh of relief that we just witnessed an intro, not an actual part of the show. (We immediately regretted the sigh as we then had to breathe in a lungful of BO.) The dramatic woman in charge announces that the theme of the show is “Summer in Space!!!!!!!!” Crap. Here we go:
The one on the left is a guy. Wearing a skirt of some thick felt material. He had pearls glued to his face (I know this because he is friends with Ninja Turtle guy and joined our cheering section later in the show.) He had some sort of tubing expertly draped around his neck, and one part fashionably draped on his ear. The one on the right is a girl. In a potato sack. If you ever plan to visit space in the summer, bring your potato sack. Moving on:
She’s green and has a feather in her hair. And look, she even has an alien son. In the summer he likes to wear a t-shirt.
That’s a man, man! The one on the right. And the one on the left is the designer who thought that putting a man in a fairy outfit was a good representation of Summer in Space. Maybe it is, what do I know? I’m an old soul.
This is Lyndsey’s friend, Hannah. She was modeling for their friend, Abby. This was my favorite part. Her outfits were cute. Obviously not something you’d wear… unless of course you were taking your summer vacay to Mars. But cute.
At that point we chose to leave. We walked a few block to the Power & Light District. (Google it if you want this story to make sense.) We considered a cab, but what’s a few blocks??? I cried half of the way there. Not really. We get there and plopped our butts onto some barstools at a bar. We put our name on a waiting list for a seat on the patio and orders some beverages. I got a cold beer. My reasons were threefold. 1) It’s cheap. And I’m cheap. 2) I was so freaking hot that I needed something refreshing. 3) I needed to numb the pain of my blisters.
My drink of choice isn’t important. I just wanted you to get the full effect. So then we’re sitting there at the bar and this bartender comes up and enthusiatically asks, “So are you’s guys (or something discustingly Kansas-y like that) here to see DJ Jazzy Jeff??”
Like I said, I’m not hip. But when I was in elementary school, Will Smith and Jazzy Jeff were the epitome of cool. So I felt pretty safe to say that I was excited about that. We got our table on the patio and, oh my Heavenly stars, was it packed!!! Apparently we were the only people in KC that didn’t know he was going to be there. We listened to some other guy for a while and then he came out. Look, I have proof:
I really have no idea what makes a good DJ, but when he came out I thought he was good. We sat there with our drinks and texted because it was too loud to do anything else. Twenty minutes went by and the Jazz man had enough. He left. LEFT. After 20 minutes. The crowd booed, we went to another bar to meet up with Lyndsey’s friends, we had to pee, the line was too long, we called this guy and left.
If you don’t want to hire him for his awesome, no-nonsense cab driving skills, hire him for his sweet business cards!
So I guess my point is this: If being hip means drag fairies, impractical shoes, and waiting around all night with music so loud it makes your ears bleed just to see someone play for 20 minutes… well, then I’ll stick with my old lady life style.
More Ovaltine please!