Hitting the older demographic

They say getting older isn't so bad when you consider the alternative.

True enough. But that doesn't mean there won't be grounding moments in your life when you step back and realize how far away from that super cool 18-25 demographic you are. When you use terms like "super cool," for instance.

My moments came within a few days of each other recently. I'm only months inside the considerably less cool but more broad 18-34 demographic. Let's face it, my decisions on laundry detergent and deodorant were made a long time ago. Advertisers don't care about me. MTV isn't programming shows for me. I need to just switch over to Bravo and be done with it.

Here are the moments that shocked me into reality and will forevermore be known as The Big Three:

1. I was watching "Some Kind of Wonderful" on cable. It was released in 1987, the year I graduated Sikeston High School, and stars Eric Stoltz, Lea Thompson and Mary Stuart Masterson. It's about high-school seniors falling in love, standing up to their parents and discovering who they are inside.

Suddenly, an advertisement for the Load-N-Cut weed trimmer came on. "That's funny," I thought. "Why would they advertise lawn equipment during a teen movie?"

Uhhhhh ... BECAUSE THAT MOVIE'S FANS ARE 34 NOW, DOOFUS! They have homes. They have lawns. They have kids of their own. The teens of 2004 don't care about watching Lea Thompson. They have Hilary Duff.

2. My mid-20s -- my golden era, you might say -- were spent in Pensacola. I had lots of friends my age, we all made enough money for beer, we lived at each other's homes and on the beach. We had impromptu parties with no regard to working the next day -- we'd be fine.

On Friday, the old party clan descended on my apartment for a reunion of sorts. We stayed up until 3:30 a.m. drinking, smoking and talking. I had to be at work at 10 a.m. Saturday.

Apparently, I don't recover so well anymore. I did a lackluster 8-hour shift and went out again Saturday night. Only made it until 2 a.m. before I collapsed. It is now Sunday evening, and I feel like I'll need a liver and lung transplant before I feel good again. It was all I could do to get the Corona empties to the Dumpster today. That represented the extent of my physical activity.

3. Part of today's recovery was spent by the apartment complex pool, which apparently has become some sort of singles bar. I sat on my lounge chair, wearing my sizable one-piece bathing suit, finishing up "The Orchid Thief" and drinking from my water bottle. Everyone else was in or around the pool, wearing flashy trunks or bikinis (depending on gender), drinking beers and shooting the breeze. I sneaked peeks at them through my glasses from under the shade of my golf visor. That's right ... GLASSES AND A VISOR!

Nobody offered me a beer. Nobody asked if I'd been out last night. Nobody attempted to flirt with me.

That's OK. They'll be in their one-pieces with glasses and a visor soon enough. Of course, by then I'll have my AARP card, but I think I'll laugh at them anyway.

Heidi Hall is a former managing editor of the Southeast Missourian who now lives in St. Petersburg, Fla.