(Oh god. 27. It sounds so dreadfully grown-up and scary. Let�s not talk about it yet, okay?)

Why do I feel like I�ll be turning 80? Witness:

1. A few days ago I said. �Toodle-ooo, Tim� to a coworker.

2. I�m making homemade holiday cards out of old Christmas cards.

3. There�s a Ziploc bag in the pile of dirty dishes, which will be washed and reused.

4. When I wear high heels, my knees get sore, so I have to go home early in order to �rest.�

5. I had lunch in a church basement with my mom yesterday. (Okay, okay, most 80-year-olds don�t have living parents. Spoilsport.) The average age of people there was easily 73. I also bought something at their craft sale.

6. I stop at the grocery store in order to sober up before driving home. (Note also that Jeremy must be getting old, too, because he�s the one who did the shopping Friday night--I rode along for the secondhand sobering effects.)

7. I can no longer attend concerts at venues on campus. When forced to show ID to get in the door at a bar/concert, I belligerently note the indignity at the top of my lungs, whilst I fish my ID out of the giant red wallet that�s covered with Post-It notes from my large vinyl purse (fake Prada, so I�m a pseudo-stylish old lady).

8. I judge a bar on the quality of the dirty Grey Goose martini and on the cleanliness of the bathrooms.

9. I like to use the handicapped bathroom stalls, because they give me more room for the aforementioned giant plastic old lady purse.

10. Naps. If I don�t have �em, I�m an evil bitch.

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I think my plot to be the coolest aunt ever is in danger. I thought by staying on top of what the kids today are listening to, it�d help ensure that I won�t be the dreaded spinster aunt who knits ugly slippers for her nieces/nephews on each holiday. Except I always loved those booties and continue to get compliments on them. Somebody teach me how to make them, please? I digress. Seriously, I am determined to stay in touch with what�s cool and cutting edge.

Last night Jeremy and I went to a concert sponsored by the local college rock station, to which he listens much more than I do, but it seemed like it�d be okay. I did really enjoy Better Than Ezra--they have tiny little cozy corner of my heart, simply for nostalgic reasons. �Good� brings such flashbacks to early college days and to carpooling with Jeremy and other old pals. They were followed by a band from Chicago that the kids seemed to like, but it was dreadful. To give them credit, they were burdened by bad lighting, bad sound, and thinning hair. We were burdened by their frenetic stage movements and by out-of-tune singing that put me in mind of a tone-deaf boy band crooner attempting some bad-boy rocker image change. We left early.

We pushed past the little underage kids passing out in the lobby, ripped off the stupid wristbands, and passed a line of kids waiting outside for a glimpse of Better Than Ezra. Clearly they were us circa 6 years ago, and I had the audacity to mock them as I walked past. I would�ve hated me then, and I was mortified of me now. But I was right. We are too old for that nonsense. We deserve decent bathrooms not filled with underage drunkards who haven�t yet learned to manage their alcohol consumption. We deserve a concert where the performers don�t drag a couple of kids who can�t even drink up onto stage to snog during the song. We do not deserve gratuitous American flags or naked women posters.

We do deserve that video for Keep Fishin� with Weezer and the Muppets, because some of us fancy ourselves a bit too good for cable TV, so we�d never seen it before and were utterly charmed by Rivers� dimples. Oh Weezer, you may be aiming for the kids now, but I�ll still have you.

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How about that Sarah Vowell? She was just on This American Life talking about Rosa Parks. Sigh.

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Also. Yeah. Well, it seems M. Kat has invited one of our old college roommates over today. Over where, you ask? Oh, hey, my house, of course. If I hurry, maybe I can clean and fit in a bike ride. Naw, probably not. I spent too much time reading Bust this morning.

Hence, no sensible wrap-up. I have, however, entirely failed to mention the one small thing that I hopped online to note, so maybe more later.

11. So often I forget what I�m supposed to be doing. I get up purposefully, only to find the impetus behind such sure movement completely gone.