I am old

I’m not sure how this happened, but somehow I became old.

I start getting drowsy at 9:30 p.m., but I try to stay up until 10:30 p.m. to see the news and the weather. And on the weekends, I can’t sleep past 7:30 a.m.

I enjoy reading the real estate section of the newspaper.

I like broccoli.

I can’t pinpoint when this getting-old-thing happened. Over the past year or so, I’ve caught myself having particularly old-person moments. For example, daydreaming about station wagons and looking forward to dinner parties.

I was feeling old again Friday night. Chris and I went to see the Violent Femmes at the Cubby Bear. Overall, it was a great show, especially because the Cubby Bear is a rather small venue for such a well-known band. Unfortunately, though, the combination of a band such as the Violent Femmes and a venue such as the Cubby Bear, which sits in the heart of Wrigleyville, meant one thing: lots of idiot kids at the show.

I do not like most 18-to-25-year olds. In fact, I don’t like most people under 18 either, and there are a whole lot of idiots over 25 I could do without as well. These people annoy me because they are loud and say stupid things loudly in public places. They drink too much and go shopping too often. They love classic rock and they think listening to Radiohead and John Mayer makes them alternative. They are perpetual college students, and they are everything I can’t stand about America. Why? Because I am a crotchety old lady.

Damn kids.

Anyway, these idiots flocked en masse to this Violent Femmes concert. I knew they would, but I couldn’t pass up seeing the Femmes for only $15. Chris and I got to the show early so we could stake out a good place to stand because it was a general admission show. We found a nice spot with a good view of the stage and next to a column with a ledge where we could set our drinks. Unfortunately, the harmless-looking girl in front of us later had about 10 girls join her. The two girls directly to my side decided to bring enormous shoulder bags with them to the show.

Why is this necessary? Why do girls feel the need to bring giant bags with them wherever they go? How much stuff could they possibly need when hanging out at a bar? Ugh.

Anyway, when the shoulder-bag twins and their 10 friends weren’t posing for a billion pictures together (“Oh my god, girls’ night out! We are so Sex and the City!”), they were talking to each other incessantly throughout the show. And occasionally they would talk to another friend who was directly in front of me. This left me constantly trying to look around three idiots just so I could see the band I paid to see. Because that’s what you do when you pay admission to a show. You watch the band. You don’t talk the entire time and take pictures with the camera phone that you also keep using to text message people while a band is on stage.

If these annoyances weren’t enough, one of the shoulder-bag twins decided to make use of the drink ledge next to me. However, she had to reach past my chest to leave her drink on the ledge. But, she didn’t just set down her drink. She continued holding onto it while resting it on the ledge. This meant that during the show I had a shoulder bag in my face and an arm extended across my chest. This was just too much.

Chris and I took a two-sided approach. After each song Chris would loudly clap in the girl’s ear, and during each song I would dance so wildly that I shoved my boob into her armpit on more than one occasion, and I bashed into her arm enough times she nearly spilled. She got the hint and eventually stepped aside.

Afterward, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have found this so annoying in my younger days. Probably. I’ve never liked college students, even when I was a college student. I guess I’ve been a crotchety old lady for a long time. Now all I need is a cane, which I will use to hit those idiot kids when they walk on my lawn. And then I’ll shake my fist and swear at them, because old people who drop the F-bomb are hilarious.