Every summer, Grand Rapids has a weekly free outdoor concert featuring a Blues band of some sort. It’s called “Blues on the Mall” and it is hilarious. I go every week (I’ve just decided) to watch all of the people make idiots of themselves. Some of them by simply existing. I’m sure the music is ok too.
Last night was the second week of the people-watching festivities and a routine has already set in. My sister is the best person to catch the crap I talk, and she likes to throw it back at me. We’re pretty great at making fun of people. We’d be happy to let strangers make fun of us as well, it’s just that nobody tries (within earshot). We got to the site of the debacle and had tacos on our minds. First stop was the taco truck for the mouth-watering deliciousness that I look forward to every week.
We grabbed some friends along the way and headed to the grassy knoll where the cool kids and goths (I had no idea goths were still a thing) sit. Much to my chagrin, there were two ladies in sparkly spandex shorts and belly baring tube tops attempting to entertain bystanders by hula-hooping. Hula-hooping. They strutted around, sort of gyrating and barely keeping the hoops around their soft midsections while I stared in disbelief that they were real. I mean…they were wearing sparkly spandex shorts.
They seemed to attract the attention of about every terrifyingly grisly/possibly homeless old man who hobbled past them, and they seemed to enjoy it. One of these men thought he’d give the hoopers a run for their money and show them a thing or two about rug cutting. He gyrated them right out of the water and provided about 15 minutes of entertainment. His best move was when he appeared to be scooping his testicles out and sharing them with the crowd. It was breathtaking. His one visible eye gleamed with pride and he eventually moved on or fell over or something. The hula-hussies capitalized on the eagerness of the crowd to video-record the dancing man and made sure to constantly be in the frame, sort of moving the hoop around their legs or arms or wherever isn’t interesting at all.
I thought the hula girls had moved on with their lives and decided to leave our area when a few of their friends joined them, enticing them to stay and play. The girl who ran up and hugged them each enthusiastically looked like she had crawled directly off of an Urban Outfitters ad. Only sluttier. The guy(?) who accompanied her was wearing denim stretch-capris. I wagered a few of my friends that they were definitely Bubblegum brand. From Kohl’s. I had an identical pair when I was 14. He’s sooooo ironic.
Apart from a Billy Idol lookalike, a socially awkward guy who wandered up to a tree, did a single pull up then wandered away, and several women who were WAY too big for what they were wearing, the dancing man was the highlight of the evening. At one point, some woman came and sat down in our group, chatting with a friend of mine as if they were life-long lovers. She explained a new STD phenomenon called the “Blue Waffle”, flashed her trashy-white thighs through the zippers (yep, zippers) on her skirt and promised to return. It was then that I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my friend that said, “I do not know this girl AT ALL”. Now I’m mad that I wasted precious minutes pretending to be nice to her for my friend’s sake. That was valuable snark time that I’ll never get back. But, at least I know how to steer clear of a Blue Waffle. Don’t wear skirts with multiple zippers. Or any visible zipper at all.
I think there was also some sort of Blues band…