Friday, August 10, 2012

Another Note on Getting Older

I know anyone out there above the age of 30 is now saying, “What the hell does SHE know?  She’s only cracked 30 recently.” I understand these feelings and will confess to thinking the same thing anytime someone under the age of 30 complains about getting older.  Whatever.  I’ve said it before – it’s my blog and I don’t give a flying rat’s dirty parts because I have officially moved into the next box on the survey when asked my age (so long, 25 – 29.  So long.)
The point is, I’m starting to reach the point in my life where I’d wax poetic about “really getting what life’s about, you know?” to People magazine, should they choose to interview me (I’m sure they need a feature story on some smartass girl who is trying to sell her house through witty Craigslist ads and what will soon be flat-out bribery.)  I’ve realized that my life has changed for the better (mostly) and being on a “get out my frustration at passive aggressive letters I get in the mail and a shitty housing market” writing binge lately, I’ve decided to share my litmus test for getting older.
1.  Onions.  Making burgers the other night prompted me to ask Travis, “Do you want onions or not?”  When he replied, “Well, what kind?” I honestly had to stop because I then realized that not only did I actually have onions that weren’t sprouting other onions in my fridge, I had a freakin’ plethora of onions from which to choose.  Just pick a color – white, red, or green – and I will take care of your onion needs.  This wouldn’t be a big thing, but I distinctly remember opening the “pantry” door at my house in college (it wasn’t a pantry.  It was actually access to the basement with a board placed over the opening to go downstairs.) and remembering that my mother had given me a sack of onions approximately around the time Nelly thought it was “getting’ hot in hurr.”  These onions ceased to be edible somewhere around the time 50 Cent opined about loving someone “like a fat kid love cake” and so the fact that I now have a farmer’s market worth of edible onions in my fridge is pretty smackin’ awesome.  The onions, along with the musical comparisons, show my age and subsequently, my awful taste in music. 
2.  I get to work around 7:45 in the morning.  My job in 2002?  I would walk in around 10:00.  At night.  The thought now of actually having to function at 10pm makes me wanna curl up in my pajamas even more as I drift off to sleep to the sounds of M*A*S*H and the lovely sound of Hawkeye’s martini glass. 
3.  I actually crave vegetables.  I’ve said on multiple occasions that I will judge a meat-n-three by their green beans and I mean it (best beans in town award, at the moment, goes to Sweatt’s.  They also get the best meatloaf award.  Actually, they just get “best damn food in Nashville as long as it’s daytime” award.  Not in the best neighborhood, unfortunately, so leave the Prada at home, folks.)  As awful as this sounds, the idea of a salad bar makes me absolutely giddy since then I have free reign to add WHATEVER I WANT to my salad.  Radishes?  SURE!  Cucumbers?  But of course.  And if they have sprouts on the other side of the sneeze guard?  Bless my heart and pile those suckers on top.  When I was 21 the only vegetable I got was the bloody mary I got at brunch and possibly some scallions on top of my Mexican pizza (before they stopped adding them on after the great scallion scare of 2003.)  My main form of nutrition was the Wendy’s $1 menu (another fast food tragedy – the removal of the chili, chips, and cheese tastiness that used to be my go-to meal on the fly.  Sad day, Wendy’s.  Sad, sad day) and sometimes, if I felt frisky, some mushrooms on my calzone from Barley’s (someone please tell me that place is still kicking?) 
I just realized that I’ve been talking about food for WAY too long, which is another sign of old age, so let’s just move on to…
4.  A big point of excitement in my life stems from being able to match up all the socks in a load of laundry.   Another point of excitement came when I bought a package of socks the other day – THAT WERE COLOR-CODED.  Each pair has a different accent color, making the match-making process after the dryer a freakin’ breeze.  When I can match up my socks in seconds, Trav’s socks come out evenly, AND I don’t have to search the corners of the fitted sheet for that one lone, straggling ankle sock?  That’s the triple crown of laundry perfection, folks.  The trifecta of the laundry room.  And it officially puts me in the “not a whippersnapper anymore” category. 
5.  I made the best vinaigrette dressing of my life yesterday.  I also made the dorkiest proclamation of my life just now.  I’ve been struggling while trying to find my perfect blend of oil and vinegar and by golly, yesterday I achieved it!  This might not sound like a big deal, but believe me, it was a good day in the Yost household.  I also totally forgot what I did differently this time, which also puts a mark in the “onset dementia” column and reinforces the fact that I’m old. 
6.  In my last “getting old” blog I mentioned that I heard Pearl Jam on the classic rock station.  Well, yesterday I heard Aerosmith on the “radio for baby boomers” channel.  I then realized what a caricature Steven Tyler has become and I longed for the days when he was doped up and not hopping on counters in a Burger King commercials.  The days of yore, I believe it’s called.  And I miss them.     


  1. Holly turns 30 next month. I'm (ahem) a little older than her.
    We were watching an episode of the "New" Dallas show the other night. They showed a scene of Patrick Duffy.
    Holly said, "That's a great casting choice, I loved him on Step by Step".
    "Yeah, that's Bobby Ewing" I said.
    "I know, its cool they cast him", she replied.
    I looked at her curiously and then realized that up until the point I was was about to tell her, she never knew Patrick Duffy was Bobby Ewing through out the 70's and 80's, and only thought he was the Dad from 'Step by Step'. I decided not to correct her.

    Also when Randy Travis sings 1982, he was quite the country singer before he decided getting drunk and naked while driving an 88 Firebird was a good idea.. (But then again, we've all been there.. Right?)), I remember that was the year my wife was born.

  2. 1982 was a good year, apparently! And I will say I knew Patrick Duffy was on the original Dallas, but I will also say that I, too, know him better from Step by Step. Ha!