Get off the lawn!

Well, it’s finally happened. I kinda felt it creeping up on me with little hints here and there. But I’m smart enough to recognize the signs and humble enough to admit when they’ve become overwhelming.

I’m now officially old. Which sucks.

It sucks because I am no longer one of the ‘kids.’ On this most recent Haunt Trade Show road trip, no one wanted to ride with the Curator and me. No one. Never mind the Curator and I had a hell of a fun time, hooting and hollering the whole way, bouncing from one crazy topic to another, acting like a couple of goofballs.

Oh, no. See, we’re ‘old.’ We’re no longer part of that 20-something crowd. We’re old enough to be moms, and even tho we aren’t moms, hanging out with mom-like creature is totally uncool.

It sucks because I know how old I am, but I still find myself drawn to the whole Hot Topic fashion thing. Yes, I know I’m too old for all that but dammit, I was doing all that stuff decades ago! The black hair with multi-colored streaks, the rock’n’roll t-shirts, the neon colored socks, tons of silver jewelry, clothes and shoes with multiple buckles...

1983 baby. THAT was the first time all that stuff came out. And I was riding the wave WAY before anybody else in this town was. That means 26 years before you punk-ass kids were, too.

I was Goth before Goth was cool, dammit! You emo kids with your died black hair. You see this stuff on my head? Natural. All natural. No dye job here. I even got the Lily Munster streaks coming in naturally, too.

You know that shirt that says “Natural Blonde?” I need one that says “Natural Goth.”

Being old sucks because I am no longer in touch with pop culture. I try, believe me. I hit about a dozen pop culture websites daily, trying to keep myself hip to current trends while being entertained as well. But I’m terribly out of the loop.

This morning the Spouse and I are reading the paper... now see, there ya go. Egad, we must really be old because we’re reading a fucking newspaper. Yesterday’s news delivered to your front the door (for a small price) a couple of days after it happened. Never mind we already saw most of this stuff on CNN or other various news websites - for free! We’d much rather enjoy it again in disposable paper form. Plus it’s good for swatting the cat when he’s being bad.

So, anyway, yes. We were reading our near-obsolete method of news delivery and the Spouse noticed I was well into the ‘Features’ (that’s the not-news section of the paper: comics, celebrity gossip, bridge strategies and horoscopes).

(And for that matter, WHO IN THE HELL READS THE BRIDGE STRATEGIES COLUMN?!)

Well, the Features section is just slathered with full-color photos of all the big-name celebrities that came into town for the Derby Saturday and attended all the rich-and-famous bashes. And the Spouse says, “Ya know, I have no idea who any of those people are.”

And then I realized after perusing said photos, neither do I.

Well, there’s that one actress who was really big 20 years ago, and that one woman who was on that talk show. But the rest of these people... no clue. I know their names get bounced around in the media a lot, but I couldn’t tell you who they are and what they do, least of all why they are famous in the first place.

The same goes for music. I haven’t listened to commercial radio for years. The 3 iPods I’ve gone thru killed that for me. Now I still buys a lot of new music. Well, new as in ‘I don’t own it yet,’ not new as in ‘it’s on the current top 40.’ I hit the local-owned record shops and browse their used section. And I’m always finding something nifty on iTunes, not to mention the cool and obscure out-of-print goodies I discover on the net once in a while.

But every time I see one of those “Now That’s What I Call Music” cd commercials, I find myself saying, “Who?” a lot.

Saturday afternoon, tho, was the proverbial ‘nail in the coffin’ of my youth. Saturday, as most of you may know, was the Kentucky Derby. And for those sane individuals who don’t want to wallow around drunk in the infield, staying home and having a party is the next best thing.

The folks that live across the street from us were having just such a party. And they had rented a Moon Bounce for all the kiddies. Needless to say, a large, inflated, bouncy, red, blue and yellow thing is quite the child magnet. It must have sent out one hell of signal because within a couple of hours of inflation, every kid in a 5 block area was hanging out on our street.

Which is fine. I don’t care.

But they meandered from the Moon Bounce to congregate in the street on their skateboards and scooters. Which is still fine. They’re kids, they’re having fun.

Then they started wandering from front yard to front yard. A whole slew of them. About 20 crotch-fruit ages 7-13. And they eventually worked their way over to our yard.

Which, and this may surprise you, still doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if the local street urchins play in our yard or our driveway. Hell, as long as I don’t have to play with them.

But then, a couple of the boys started a shoving match, which escalated into an even bigger shoving match, which ended up in our front flower bed, which I had just planted with flowers less than 24 hours prior. When I saw one of our solar lights get knocked over and a sneakered foot stomp into said flower bed, well... my inner ‘mom’ got really peeved.

Up went the window and out my head came. “OK, guys, I don’t mind if yall play in the yard or the driveway, but you need to stay away from the lights and the flowers.”

That got their attention. A couple of them apologized and the mob migrated to the next yard, still shoving each other.

So there you go. The third and final sign that I am officially old. I’m yelling at the neighbors’ kids to “Get off the lawn!”