Hooray, the 90s party went off with nary a hitch.  Mr. Glib and I, six out-of-towners, and the city of Chicago at large seemed to survive our trip into a time of innocence and flannel. I had a great time staying up (way too) late, eating bad food, singing bad karaoke (what’s up, Destiny’s Child), and reflecting on the styling choices of one Brandon Walsh.  I was also, however, reminded of things left firmly in my own past.

Katy Perry, Ogden Nash, Jay-Z, and others may indeed be young forever, but I firmly accept that with age may not necessarily come better tastes or maturity, but will come a begrudging sense of responsibility that is supported by an enhanced desire for personal comfort and a decreased sense of patience.

On one legen…dary episode of How I Met Your Mother, the gang (who is incidentally supposed to be four years my junior) discussed their “Murtaugh List,” named after Danny Glover’s Lethal Weapon character who is prone to exclaim, “I’m getting too old for this sh*t.”  At 30, 35, and beyond, what have we outgrown?  For some of us (not me), it’s Taco Bell.  For others (also not me), it’s late bedtimes.  For me, it’s … well, these twelve things below, and a host of others.

12. Parties that include a keg of light/lite beer iced down in a bathtub. Even my youngster (25-ish) friends provide bottles and cans these days. We personally boast a kegerator, an unassuming refrigerated cabinet that houses two kegs of craft beers. Oh so classy.  And it doesn’t even need pumping.

11. Painful shoes when walking is on the agenda. I’ve invested in larger purses so that I can squirrel away tennis shoes or flip flops if I’m walking to a destination at which I’ll want heels.  I get there quicker and without blisters.  And who cares what I look like on the sidewalk outside, anyway?

10. NKOTBSB. Anyone – anyone! – in my high school graduating class knows how I loved the New Kids. I won’t get into how my obsession manifested itself. At 25 damn years old, I had a similar affection for the Backstreet Boys.  So you would think no one would be first in line for tickets to this nine-man monstrosity if not me. You would be wrong. I find the reunion touring a touch desperate, and while I applaud them for getting back out there to earn a living, they won’t be earning it from me.  Sorry, Joey Joe.  You’re still my favorite!

9. New Year’s Eve in Times Square. This sounded like a terrible idea when I was 22. Cold, crowded, lacking in bathroom opportunities, and without booze?  No thanks.  Now that I’m far from young and farther from stupid, there is no way I would consider spending my December 31 like this, barring a personal invitation from Seacrest.

8. Hitting the late movie. These days, the “late” movie is the 9:15 show. In the past, the midnight show seemed perfectly acceptable (especially for something like South Park, American Pie, or Spice World).  Go to dinner, have drinks, continue to drink through the movie, roll home at 3:00 a.m., and sleep until noon the next day.  No thanks.  These days, I prefer the late-morning matinee so I have the rest of my Saturday to be productive (sorry, 24-year-old self).

7. Going commando. I don’t think I’ve ever done this in my life other than that one time I found myself with lost luggage, and even then I was only wearing jeans. Panty line, schmanty line.  I’d rather someone see an errant material bulge than the alternative.

6. Not dressing for the cold. Similar to number 11, there comes a point in one’s life when function takes priority over fashion.  I live in Chicago, people.  While a puffy coat and long underwear and silly boots might not scream “sexy,” it keeps me relatively, you know, alive on those days where the temperature doesn’t visit 30, the wind chill is not worth discussing, and I still need to trek four blocks to wait on an elevated platform.  It’s all worth it for the BYOB Ethiopian food, y’all!

5. Staying on a weekend trip through Sunday evening. Sundays used to be the final part of a mini-break and I didn’t mind if I rolled home in the late evening – all I had to do was fall into bed and to be ready for work the next day.  Now, I can still survive a weekend of late nights if I get home early enough on Sunday to unpack, relax, catch up on some business, and take a nap BEFORE I ultimately fall into bed.  The fact that I have roughly the same job now as I did back in “the day” is not really anyone’s concern here but my own.  Sigh.

4. Shots. If cocaine is illegal, shots should be, too.  How is this a good idea?  You take people who have typically been drinking their regular amount of wine, beer, booze, whatever, get them drunk enough to consider shots a good idea, and present them with the bite-sized-candy-bar equivalent of one mixed drink.  Nothing good has ever come of a shot-fueled evening, other than perhaps the tabs a bartender is allowed to ring.  Toast with your regular cocktails, people.  You’ll feel better in the morning.

3. Deciding to road trip in the middle of the night. I went to college in the state … err, commonwealth of Virginia, which has no fewer than 7,000 colleges and universities in its borders. This fact led to some poor decisions, none of which (thankfully) involved alcohol.  Let’s leave at 10 p.m. and go to a frat party at James Madison!  Sure, I’ll drive to Longwood and pick up your boyfriend – it’s only 1 a.m.!  D.C.?  Why not! I cannot imagine the person I once was that I’d hop in the car and head out somewhere without planning it for days or weeks in advance.

2. Staying at a bar until close on a weeknight. In my mid-20s, I had a rule for my weeknight socializing.  I could be tired or hungover, but never both.  VERY responsible. So if I opted to stay out late, I wouldn’t drink very much.  If I wanted to have more than a couple of beers, I’d make sure I headed home early.  Now, I cannot be either. If I’m out until 11 I feel it.  If I come home at 9 but have had more than two drinks?  I FEEL it.  Oh, youth!  Wasted on the young.

1. Waiting in line outside a bar. Nothing is ever that good, folks.  Once you get in, it will be painfully crowded, take 20 minutes to get a drink, 15 minutes to use the bathroom, and you won’t even be able to hear any of the fabulous people you’ve been waiting so patiently to get in and meet.  Psst … try that dive next door; the bartenders are much nicer.