What Happened??

The big movie premiere of “The Hunger Games” happened last week. And there was a ton of hype and media coverage surrounding this movie. Local TV stations sent talking heads to interview teenaged girls waiting for the midnight premiere.

This basically amounted to a reporter asking inane questions like, “How excited are you to see this movie?” And a teenager screaming into the mike, “I’m just, like, SO excited to see this movie!” Which was apparently the cue for all her teenaged friends surrounding her to start screeching incoherently and jumping up and down in unison. Yikes. I had to change the channel to a Seinfeld repeat.

Evidently I was not quite so exuberant when I was a teenager. Either that, or I have a faulty memory.

Nevertheless, at some point during the middle of all this coverage, it occurred to me that I have absolutely no clue what The Hunger Games is all about.

Sigh. You know what this means, don’t you? I’m old. Yes, it’s true. I’m no longer hip. No longer fresh. And the fact that I just used the words “hip” and “fresh” to discuss my with-it-ness clearly illustrates the point.

Up until now, I’ve been pretty good at keeping up with trends. I mean, I know who Nicki Minaj is and how to spell her name correctly. I’ve downloaded Adele’s latest single. I read the whole Twilight series to see what all the Team Edward vs. Team Jacob fuss was about. (Team Edward. I’m a sucker for true romance.) (Sucker. Ha. Get it?!)

And I even forced myself to watch an episode of Kourtney and Kim Take New York just so I could figure out if there were any redeeming qualities whatsoever to the whole Kardashian phenomenon. (There aren’t.)

So when the media frenzy started about the The Hunger Games I realized I was behind the times. I don’t even know the name of the author who wrote the book. Or is that plural and it’s a series of books? See. I simply don’t know.

True, I realize that it’s aimed at a MUCH younger audience. But so were the Twilight and Harry Potter series, and look how many “old” people read those books and flocked to see those movies.

I guess there just becomes a point in life where keeping up with current trends is no longer as important as it used to be. Probably it’s self-preservation. After all, if “mature” ladies walked around sporting the current fashions, like, say, those new sky-high bright color-blocked heels, they’d injure things and end up in traction. And it’s pretty hard to glam up a hospital gown, so then you’re back at square one and might as well have gone for the sensible shoes in the first place.

Plus, when you get old(er), there are bigger things to worry about. Like finding the right moisturizer lest you end up looking like a Shar Pei.

Or like wondering where you put your reading glasses so you can read your prescription bottle to find out if you’re supposed to take your pain medication with food or without food. Or like worrying about being able to retire before your 90th birthday. Or worrying that you might actually have to begin a second career as a WalMart greeter.

Personally, I tend to worry about facial hair. I can’t help it. Errant hairs have started popping up on my chin and other embarrassing places on my face where ladies are not supposed to sport facial growth. The only redeeming quality about them is that they’re either blond or white (probably the latter), so they aren’t quite as easy to see. On the other hand, they’re either blond or white, so I cannot see them to pull them out with the tweezers I’ve taken to carrying with me at all times.

So it pretty much comes down to this: All the time I used to spend keeping up with the latest in Hollywood and the New York Times bestsellers list has been usurped by tweezing. Sad, but true. And if you young’uns think it won’t ever happen to you, let me assure you. It will.

Back when I was a young’un myself (and had to walk 10 miles to school, uphill both ways, blah, blah), I used to marvel at some of the older ladies I worked with. I’d wonder if they knew they had a big blob of mascara on their right eyelid or if they’d done it on purpose. Now I realize it’s because of the whole Shar Pei thing that happens with aging eyelids. It’s hard to apply mascara properly when your eyelid is practically folded over your lash line.

What I didn’t realize then – but am very clear on now – is that older ladies really don’t care that they have a big blog of mascara on their eyelid. They figure they’re dressed and are relatively presentable. And they made some sort of effort with the mascara and all, so that should count for something.

So on with their day they go.

But sometimes they will surprise you. They might show up in a new fashion trend that won’t make them look ridiculous or cause serious injury. And they might actually read The Hunger Games to find out what all the hype is about.

Just please don't point out any stray facial hairs growing on an old(er) lady. After all, she is probably clutching those ever-ready tweezers and I suspect those suckers could do some damage...

I Think Mother Nature is Messing With Us...

What’s this? A new blog for Jane’s Domain? Finally?!

As my mom used to say, “Will wonders never cease?” (And now that I think about it, she used to say that with more than a touch of sarcasm…)

Anyway.

But, yeah, it’s been a busy month. I’ve had lots of little projects to work on – and lots of big projects, too. My poor head is about to explode with all the things I’m doing, need to do, or haven’t gotten done.

But busy is good – right? I mean, it’s way better than being bored. If you had a childhood like mine, the “B” word was NEVER used in our house. Because if we used it, let me tell you, we regretted it the instant the word left our mouths. Our mom would say, “You’re bored? Well, honey, we can take care of that right now…” And then she’d hand us a list of chores that little Miss Cinderella herself would have found daunting.

So bored I’m not.

But because we’ve had such a mild winter and unseasonably warm temperatures so far this spring (even though it has only just arrived), I have a major task that just shot to the top of the list.

Yep, I have to haul out the bins that hold all my spring/summer clothes and switch out my closet. This was a task not scheduled until at least April. But everything – and I mean everything – in my closet is winter wear. It’s all fleece, corduroy, wool and velvet.

Nothing is 80 degree weather-worthy. So I’ve been a soggy, sweaty mess all week. How will I possibly survive August if it’s this warm in March, for cryin’ out loud!

Let’s just say that getting ready for work this morning was a challenge. I think I stood in front of my closet for about 10 minutes just shaking my head. Finally, in desperation, I pulled a long-sleeve jean shirt from the back of the closet and put it on. This is the shirt I normally wear to clean on Saturdays. In the winter. It even has a small(ish) bleach stain on the bottom, but I was so desperate, I wore it anyway.

As I walked through the garage to my car, I eyed the clear plastic bins that hold all my lightweight and airy cotton tops. I looked longingly at the boxes before getting in my car and driving away. In my bleach-stained jean shirt.

The bad news is that those bins are at the bottom of the stack in the garage. So it’s not a minor task we’re discussing. It’s a major undertaking. As I recall, I had back pain for several days last November after I hauled all those bins to the garage. And then when I moved things around in January and put away the holiday decorations, I oh-so-cleverly moved the clothes bins to the bottom of the stack of boxes holding all our Christmas paraphernalia.

There was more room to maneuver in our garage, but still. Now all my clothes are at the bottom of a big stack of boxes.

What was I thinkin’?!

So this weekend, you’ll find me in the garage with boxes strewn all around trying to reach the clothes bins. I’ll drag them upstairs to our bedroom. I’ll probably have to wash them all before I hang them in the closet. And then I’ll have to fold all my winter stuff, put it in the same bins and haul them back to the garage.

Sheesh. Just writing all that makes me tired and achy.

Perhaps I should just go shopping instead. I think I can handle a good half dozen shopping bags, or so. I mean, really. I think I’m up for that!

But whatever I end up doing, you surely know what will happen if I fold up every single piece of winter clothing and put it away, don’t you? Yep, we’ll have an April snowstorm. Of biblical proportions and all that.

So maybe I’ll leave a fleece jacket or something in the back of my closet. A little insurance couldn’t hurt.

White Lexus Guy

Unlike today’s sunny commute, my drive to work yesterday morning was a little crazy what with all the wind and the rain. Before I even left my neighborhood I had to dodge two trash cans that were rolling around in the street. And, no, I didn’t get out in the driving rain to put them back where they belonged. I figured they’d just blow over again and I, in the meantime, would arrive at work looking all soggy and bedraggled. Apparently I only do good neighbor deeds when the elements outside are favorable.

So once I detoured around the runaway garbage cans, I faced the fun that is rainy day freeway driving. Turns out that we weren’t driving as slowly as I expected, which was a nice surprise, but we weren’t cruising along at 65 MPH either. If you subtract about half of that speed you’d be just about in the right range. Which is also known as “slow-and-go” but is not nearly as bad as “stop-and-go.”

On the other hand, I had my wipers on the fastest setting, which is something I rarely do, so it was raining pretty hard out there. Slow-and-go was probably not a bad thing.

Naturally, there was at least one crazy driver out there keeping me entertained. Well, either entertained or annoyed. Depended on the moment.

This guy, in a white Lexus, started out two cars ahead of me in the center lane as I entered the freeway. After a few minutes when there was a half a car length between two vehicles in the left lane, he swooped in and bridged the gap. The car he pulled in front of had to slam on his brakes, of course. So this annoyed me right off the bat. I mean, what an idiot. I even shook my head and muttered, “What an idiot.”

I don’t think he heard me, though.

Immediately thereafter my attention was brought back to my own lane. It was, after all, raining pretty hard and I didn’t want any drivers around me slamming on their brakes because of something I did and looking at me and muttering, “What an idiot.”

Anyway, under normal circumstances, I’d promptly forget all about White Lexus Guy. Except that the center lane (where I was) started moving ahead faster than the cars in the left lane (where White Lexus Guy had just bullied his way into). So he swooped back into my lane – right behind me. I’m not positive, but I have to assume that the person in the car that had previously been directly behind me had to slam on her brakes.

So now White Lexus Guy was front and center in my thoughts. I didn’t think he was impaired as I’ve sometimes thought of drivers on the freeway – but he was driving recklessly all the same and I just wanted to get away from him.

We all continued on down the road and White Lexus Guy managed to behave himself for approximately 3.2 seconds before he got tired of following me – and he swooped into the far right lane.

More brakes were hit. There was probably more swearing and muttering. And “idiot” might have been a term of endearment rather than what folks were by now calling White Lexus Guy.

Now, in my opinion, the right lane is never a good idea since cars are merging onto the freeway and the right lane is usually the slowest as they have to allow those cars in. So White Lexus Guy was now several cars behind me.

By this point I was laughing at White Lexus Guy. He was spending so much time switching lanes, he was now about five cars behind where he was when he started. He was losing ground rather than getting to his destination faster by all that swooping from one lane to the other.

And, yes, I did, as a matter of fact, count how many times White Lexus Guy switched lanes. Thirteen. Thirteen times. He started out ahead of me and, by the time I ditched him and exited the freeway, he was pretty far behind me.

What an idiot.