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 First Ever Jane’s Domain Trilogy. (Watch Your Back Star Wars!)

I hope I’m not sounding like a broken record here, but I thought I’d write one more blog about our house hunting/buying process. We’ll call it my trilogy, okay? 

Hey, it worked for Star Wars. 

Not that I’m comparing my little blog to Star Wars or anything.  I think Star Wars raked in a buck or two, while my little blog has raked in, well, nothin’.  Zip.  Zero. Bupkus.

Hmm. So, um, why am I writing this blog again??  Oh yeah, simply because I like to write.

Well, anyway, let’s see where I left off last time.  Ah yes – I was discussing proper footwear and the state of one’s pedicure when house hunting. 

So the other important thing I learned when house hunting is this: location, location, location.  

Never heard that one before, have you? 

Nah, I’m just kidding.  Everyone has heard that one.  Even newborns.  If they had the ability to speak seconds after their birth, those would be their first words.  (Kind of a scary thought for their moms, though, huh?)

But I digress. 

There were lots of steps in between removing my shoes at the entrance of a complete stranger’s home and guiltily peeking in their closets and cabinets to choosing a house and then finally moving into it.  Maybe I’ll write more about those steps at some point (which totally shoots my trilogy plan), but I’m going to go with the biggest lesson of all in the house buying process.  And that is:

HIRE. PROFESSIONAL. MOVERS.

Sorry for yelling, but it’s that important.  You need to hire professional movers even if it means you have to sit on your dirty carpet for two months after moving in because you have no extra money to buy that coveted leather sectional that would go perfectly in your brand new living room. 

I hired professional movers over 10 years ago when I moved into my townhouse and swore I would never personally carry boxes into a new abode again. 

So I stated this very opinion to my husband.  Rather emphatically, I might add.  He nodded.  He seemed to understand my viewpoint.  And then he proceeded to rent a truck from U-Haul.  He hired his football player son and his son’s football player friend to haul boxes from our old place, into the truck, out of the truck and into our new house.

Now, believe me, I’m not slamming their efforts in any way.  Those kids worked like machines most of the day and did an amazing job.  But it simply wasn’t enough.  Perhaps an additional strapping football player or two was needed for the job, but we were fresh out of available football players.  So it took several more car loads throughout the following week to get all our stuff from Point A to Point B. 

And we had a few casualties, of course.  A wine glass here and a decorative vase there.  Fortunately, no heirlooms were harmed during the moving process. 

But none of that was the major problem.

The major problem was that I had to haul boxes right along with my husband and the boys.  And that is precisely why I wanted to hire professional movers.  You are not required to lift a single box when you hire professional movers.  In fact, they frown upon such interference from an amateur such as myself.  And, frankly, I am more than happy to be an amateur in any heavy lifting situation.

Had we hired professional movers, I would have been cheerfully unwrapping the china while sweaty men with the couch strapped to their backs asked me precisely where I wanted it positioned in the living room.  And all I would’ve had to do was point. 

Instead, I was a hot, sweaty, stringy-haired mess.  By the end of the day, I was clutching my aching back with one hand and throwing boxes clearly marked “Upstairs Bedroom” into the entryway of the house with the other because I refused to make another trip upstairs.

And my aching back lasted for days.  Weeks, even.  Oh, who am I kidding?  My back is STILL aching.

Moreover, I had so many bruises on my arms and shins from carrying heavy boxes and, in my exhausted state, running into walls while I was carrying those heavy boxes, I looked as if I had gotten into a physical altercation with someone.  

If I had, it probably would have been my coworker who smirked at me and said, “All unpacked?!” the morning after we returned the U-Haul truck.  Fortunately for him I don’t resort to violence in such situations.  I just do the withering stare thing that is oh so painful for the recipient.  Not.

Alas, we didn’t have any time to unpack before we had to pack a weekender bag and head to Cape Cod to celebrate my parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary.  Originally, it seemed like an inconvenient time for a mini-vacation, but in the end it was good.  Good to spend time with family.   Good to have the chance to celebrate my folks' 60 years of wedded bliss.  And good to allow the healing process to begin on all those bruises.  (My almost 9-year-old niece, by the way, gleefully counted each and every bruise.  She probably would've played connect-the-bruises with a Sharpie if I'd let her.) 

And she drew today's blog illustration.  If you can't see it clearly, the heading reads: "Hint: Don't  look like this after moving." And I think - but I'm not positive - that her Aunt Jane caricature is missing her right foot. 

Hmm.  Perhaps I exaggerated the whole moving experience just a tiny bit?

No.  No, I didn't.  

So I repeat: HIRE. PROFESSIONAL. MOVERS.