Trendsetter I Am Not

I’m not exactly what you would call “cutting edge” and I’m not much of a trendsetter.  Sometimes it takes me a while to get with the program and follow a trend.

And sometimes I avoid the program altogether.

Like, for instance, when the ripped jeans trend started, I couldn’t follow it. All I wanted to do was take a needle and thread to the tears in those jeans and stitch them back together.  Not the point, I know, but it was a look I could neither accept nor pull off.

Fortunately, my avoidance of cutting edge trends has saved me from later embarrassment a time or two.  As proof, I have two words for you: Parachute Pants.

Nobody looked good in those things and MC Hammer is still probably mortified. Sure, he made a lot of dough from his 80s hit, You Can’t Touch This, but in that getup who wanted to touch that? 

Enough said.

My trend avoidance isn’t solely related to fashion either.

When people stood around the proverbial water coolers at work discussing the latest doings on their favorite television shows, I was usually on the fringes staying silent because it was a series I hadn’t started following.  In fact, it’s only years later that I now know what the fuss was all about on series like Breaking Bad and Lost and Dexter.

Thank goodness for Netflix.

As a matter of fact, I have only just recently jumped on the bandwagon of a certain film series. You’ve probably heard of it – Star Wars?

Yeah, that one.  I had never seen a single installment of Star Wars. Ever.

I don’t know why, really. It’s not like I detest science fiction-type movies or anything.  After all, I really liked The Matrix and the Terminator and Men in Black.

Plus, Harrison Ford was pretty cute back in the day. (I still like him now, but would hardly call him “cute”!)

So when my sister, brother-in-law and niece were in town over the holidays and wanted to see Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens and asked me to join them, well, how could I refuse?

Besides, it’s not like I’ve been hiding under a rock for the past thirty-nine years since the first Star Wars movie premiered. I know all about R2D2 and Chewbacca and Princess Leia and her gold bikini. And something about Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia being brother and sister.  And, of course, I have heard the line, “Luke, I am your father” about a bajillion times – even though I also know it’s a misquote and Darth Vader never actually said those exact words.

Just for grins one time, I played a game of Star Wars trivia – and won. Go figure.  I must be good at guessing.  Or all that trivia passed through my subconscious at one time or another through the years.

So now I can no longer say that I’ve never seen any of the Star Wars movies. And who knows? I may even have a Star Wars movie marathon so I can really make sense of this latest installment.

 

Just don’t expect me to change my ways and become a cutting-edge trendsetter.

I have only ever worn green or blue nail polish when my Halloween costume demanded it and I don’t understand ombre hair. It still looks to me like someone forgot to make an appointment with their stylist. 

And speaking of hair…don’t even get me started on the whole man bun thing…

That’s a trend that needs to go away. Now.  Because it's unlikely that I’ll be around in another thirty-nine years to finally get it.  

The Joy and Pain of Netflix

Sometimes I think Netflix is the best thing that has happened to us since the invention of the smart phone and other times? Well, other times, I curse the person who invented it. (Netflix – not the smart phone.)

Vince and I love watching Netflix because there are no commercials. He gets annoyed over commercial breaks on network television and we have to fast forward through them. And woe to the remote control operator if she is not quick on the draw and remembers to hit the button once the commercial has begun.

I can see my darling husband out of the corner of my eye as he starts doing this imaginary button pressing thing, which gets more pronounced if the commercial actually starts airing. And if I’m still focused on something else (like my smart phone, for instance), he makes noises indicating his frustration and even starts poking me in the side with his elbow.

Only once has he had to pointedly ask, “And why are we watching this commercial?” So I had to pretend like I was completely engrossed in the local ad featuring the lawyer with the horrible comb-over. Side note to my fellow Columbus-ites: does that guy really think he’s fooling anyone?! (I’d show you a picture of him, but, well, he IS a lawyer, after all, and I’m not completely familiar with libel laws.)

So, yeah. In our house, we are not big fans of the advertising commercial. Mental note to self: Hand him the remote on Sunday and let him decide if he wants to be able to discuss Super Bowl commercials on Monday around the proverbial water cooler.

Anyway, the lack of commercials is one big benefit of Netflix. Another benefit is that we can watch an entire series without waiting a week for the next “live” episode to air or months before the next season begins.

Consequently, we are in the know about where the phrase “Better call Saul” comes from. And we now know who got lost on Lost and why (sort of), and how Dexter could be such a good bad guy.

So we’re watching shows that were critically acclaimed – even if the acclaiming was going on a few years ago.

However, I have recently realized that there are other long-running series that are featured on Netflix and I’ve started becoming addicted to reruns and repeats that I already saw the first time around.

Like, for instance, I’m currently re-watching the entire series of Friends.  Did I watch Friends when it initially aired on NBC? Sure, I did. I even taped it on my VCR if I had to miss an episode. (That’s how long ago Friends premiered.)

My justification is that sometimes the videotape messed up and I missed certain pivotal episodes. Like the one where Ross cheats on Rachel because they were “on a break.” I needed to see it to piece together the entire Ross and Rachel thing.  Plus, I had no idea how the duck and the chicken came to live with Joey and Chandler. These are important questions that needed to be answered.

I know. Could I BE any more lame?!

But reliving those moments on that show puts me in a happy place. And there was some really funny stuff on Friends.  I have laughed so loudly I’ve even scared the cats a few times.

Fortunately, Friends is only a half hour show and without commercials, we’re looking at 22 minutes, tops. Thus, I can get through them pretty quickly.

So maybe it’s okay if I indulge myself this time. But I really, really need to stop after Friends.

…except that I think I saw that Netflix is replaying Cheers. And I’m thinking I should probably relive all those Sam and Diane moments.

Uh oh.

…And Later That Night…

Once we arrived at my uncle’s place in Connecticut, we greeted him, used the “facilities” and, standing by the stairs, talked for a moment about the drive, the weather and the abysmal state of The Ohio State University football program.

I could have done without that last topic of conversation.

Crack detective that I am, I observed that the air conditioner was not running. And I immediately began to sweat. Within seconds, my scalp was drenched and droplets of perspiration had formed on my forehead. Another few seconds and they were threatening to slide down my face and land in my eyes and do that burning/blinding thing that sweat droplets do.

Have I mentioned that I don’t like to sweat? This would be one reason why. Also, wiping sweat from one’s forehead requires movement, which makes one sweat all the more.

I sort of wondered why my uncle didn’t have the central air on, but like anyone a generation ahead of me, he’s old. I thought maybe he no longer had working sweat glands and, therefore, he wasn’t warm. I couldn’t imagine it, though. It had to be close to 90 degrees inside and the humidity outside was enough to kill a person. Or at least kill a person who hates being soggy.

Thankfully, we quickly left the oven-like atmosphere and walked outside into the stifling humidity. Great. Now I literally understood what “out of the frying pan and into the fire” meant. Well, okay, not literally – but close enough.

We were on our way to visit my aunt, who is in a nursing home. And my uncle, who has macular degeneration like my dad and has a hard time seeing road signs and such, handed me his car keys. So once again I donned my imaginary chauffeur’s cap and climbed behind the wheel of yet another strange car.

Apparently God has a plan to get me over my fear of driving and getting lost, eh?!

Fortunately, my uncle gave great directions to the nursing facility and we arrived with nary an “uh oh” or an “oops.” I started thinking that perhaps I was actually going to lick this directionally challenged thing.

Ah, silly, silly me.

After visiting with my aunt, we called my cousin who lives in town and was meeting us for dinner to tell her we were on our way. I’m not sure how long the drive should have taken – maybe 10 minutes or so? It had only taken us about that long to reach the nursing facility and I knew the pizza place we were headed to was close to my uncle’s.

But we got lost. It was probably my fault because I got cocky. I actually remembered the lefts and rights to get back to the highway. This is truly an accomplishment because usually once I arrive somewhere, I immediately forget how I got there and can’t get back out unless someone has left bread crumbs for me to follow.

So the first part of the journey was no problem. But once we reached the freeway, I was at the mercy of my uncle since I had no idea where we were or where we were going. He started out okay – told me which lane I needed to be in and we were clicking along just fine.

By now, it was Friday evening rush hour and all four lanes were packed. Since I deal with that sort of traffic in Columbus – and totally “get” the Friday night rush thing, I was calm, cool and collected.

Well, except for the “cool” part. It had been extremely warm in the nursing home, which made me wonder if people in Connecticut have a thing against central air or something. But when I saw my aunt’s 100-year-old roommate lying in bed swaddled from head to toe under a blanket AND a quilt, I figured that maybe the senior citizen non-working sweat gland idea had merit.

Also, the A/C in my uncle’s car didn’t seem to be working very well. The fan was blowing like crazy, but it wasn’t actually cooling me down. Since I was concentrating on the road, I tried to ignore the fact that my back, resting against the cloth seat, was starting to sweat.

Eventually, he told me I was looking for a particular route number, which I spied up ahead and to the left. Naturally, we were in the far right-hand lane. So I started inching my way over, hoping I could cross three lanes of traffic before I reached the exit. Once he realized that I was on the move he said, “No – stay in this lane! We want to get off at the next exit.” So I inched back to my original position thinking that perhaps the sign was on the left, but the exit was on the right.

Wrong.

The exit was, indeed, on the left. Acknowledging his error, my uncle told me to take the next exit on the right hoping we could backtrack. Not so much. Thus, we began an odyssey of getting off exits and back on exits and making left turns and then right turns and then back to the left again. We may have even spun in circles a few times, I’m not sure. I do know that I made two illegal U-turns. But I would have welcomed the appearance of a cop intent on issuing me a citation. I would’ve offered to pay double the fine if only he would escort us to the blasted pizza place.

But was there a single officer in blue around to lend assistance to the desperate? Of course not. When we finally (somehow) found the correct interstate, it turned out we were traveling north when we were supposed to be traveling south.

You cannot even imagine the thoughts going through my brain by this point. They were not pretty.

Somehow we eventually found our way to a part of town my uncle recognized and, even though my faith was shaken, I followed his lead. Mostly because I had no choice. And – voila! – we finally reached the pizza parlor parking lot and I spied my cousin. The tears of frustration that I’d managed to curb nearly spilled out in relief. Except that by this point I was so sweaty, I was completely dehydrated and my tear ducts were devoid of any sort of moisture whatsoever.

Once out of the car, I nearly fell to my knees and kissed the ground, but I thought that might’ve been just a little too dramatic – even for me. And I didn’t want to make my uncle feel any worse than he already did. So I restrained myself.

But instead of leading us into the cool restaurant – my cousin told me that the A/C was out and it was hot in there.

“What,” I croaked. “You have got to be kidding me!”

I finally learned what the deal with the A/C in Connecticut was all about. They’d had a severe storm the night before, which caused lots of uprooted trees, downed power lines and electric outages all over the city.

Ohhh. NOW I get it. And, fortunately, she led us to another part of town to a restaurant that (a) was open and, more importantly, (b) had electricity with blessed cooled air. I never wanted to leave. And I most especially didn’t want to have to get behind the wheel and drive to our next destination – even if it was a hotel where I could rest my weary little head.

Fortunately, my cousin led the caravan back to her dad’s place where we switched back to my parents’ car. Then, despite my dad’s insistence that he knew the route, she led us to a hotel that had just regained power. We didn’t get lost even once. Whew.

Once inside my room, I set the A/C on the coldest setting. I took a cold shower. I yanked all the covers off the bed. I shivered all night long.

And I didn’t care one tiny little bit.

LOST! (And, no, this has nothing to do with the television series)

I am unequivocally one of the most directionally challenged people I know. And I’m not afraid to admit it.

I can get lost driving around Columbus, and I’ve been living here more than half my life. (And, yes, that's a long time. Ha.) I used to move to different sides of the city just so I could learn to navigate around that particular part of town, but it was a not the best idea I’ve ever had as some sides of town can be a little dicey.

The area where I currently reside has been home for over 8 years and I’m pretty comfortable there. I finally figured out how the suburb is situated in relation to the city and can (most of the time) tell you which way is north, south, east and west without a cheat sheet. And if I get turned around on occasion, I simply look up at the handy-dandy compass permanently on display on my rearview mirror. It doesn’t mean that I can get myself from Point A to Point B without getting lost, but at least I can tell you which wrong way I’m headed.

My father and sister are excellent navigators, but I was evidently absent when they handed out that particular skill set. Instead, the level of expertise I inherited was the Can’t-Find-Way-Out-Of-A-Paper-Bag Level. This is, as you might guess, a rather low level, ranking only slightly higher than the Hopeless-Don’t-Even-Bother Level.

I used to envy friends who were adept at giving directions. They could, without hesitation, tell you precisely which way to go to reach a particular destination. They’d say, in what I thought was sort of a smug tone of voice (but that might’ve just been me), “Jane, it’s simple – all you need to do is take 71South and exit at East North Broadway and the building will be on the southwest corner.” Those kinds of directions made me want to slap them. Just tell me Left or Right – and make sure you put a landmark in there, i.e., “If you reach the Dairy Mart, you’ve gone too far, so just stop and call me back.”

Very quickly my friends learned to give Regular Directions (as in the above example, for normal people) and Jane Directions, which basically meant that they drove me there.

I also had to build in extra time for backtracking. Otherwise, I’d always be late. As it is, my record is about 50/50. I’d say that I was leaving at such-and-such a time and people would look at me like I’m nuts. They’d say, “Why would you leave so early?” I’d just pointedly look at them and they’d say, “Oh, yeahhh…never mind!”

I think it’s really cute when my husband hands me directions from Mapquest and tells me I’m the navigator. He knows perfectly well my limitations in this area. “But all you have to do is read them to me,” he says. “How hard can that be?!”

Is he kidding??

Take the other night, for example. We got turned around no less than three times trying to reach an area precisely 13.27 miles from our home. There were 13 Mapquest steps altogether, and really only 6 if you consider that most people know how to get out of their own neighborhood. And, okay, I will concede that, for me, there were 13 steps.

What’s worse is that we were headed to an area of town where I used to live! It looked familiar and I knew I should’ve been able to guide him without any problem, but, well, it’s me we’re talking about here.

Fortunately, Vince is a patient man. It’s also fortunate that once he has driven to a particular destination, he usually doesn’t need directions the next time. This, to me, is unfathomable. It’s like understanding quantum physics without getting a headache just from contemplating the subject matter.

And then they invented GPS systems. You’d think I’d have gotten one immediately, wouldn’t you? Well, I’m also cheap and was waiting for the price to drop. I did, however, get an iPhone and it has a little GPS system on it. Yay. I thought my navigational problems were solved!

Not so fast there, Skippy…

I’ll give you a perfect example. Last year we drove to northern Michigan to visit my cousins. I’ve been there countless times and have even gotten myself there on quite a few occasions, although not always without incident or without taking, as I’ve started calling them, “Jane Detours.”

This time we were driving to another cousin’s house and I’d never driven directly from here to there.

For some reason, Mapquest was wrong (imagine that), and at about Hour 7 we were left scrambling for the atlas to compare it to Mapquest. And just so you know, northern Michigan (north of Traverse City), has a lot of little back roads without any landmarks. You can drive around for days and not find your way. Or at least I could.

Anyway, I finally remembered my iPhone’s GPS system, so I plugged in the address of our destination and started from our “current location.” We faithfully followed the instructions even watching the little dot as it plotted our progress. Suddenly, the little dot stopped and indicated we were at our destination. I looked up from my trusty iPhone expecting to see my cousin’s house…only to see that we were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere!

Vince, who’d never before been to northern Michigan, looked at me as if I was supposed to know what had gone wrong. That’s like expecting your mechanic to perform delicate arthroscopic surgery on your knee because he uses tools and knows how to fix stuff.

Fortunately, I was able to reach another cousin who somehow managed to get us back on track and we eventually arrived safely at our destination.

So my faith in GPS systems is not absolute, but there is always hope. Plus, I think I am trainable. Like, for instance, right now I can tell you that I’m in a building situated on the southeast corner of the street and my desk is facing south.

And that, my friends, is progress.