Fighting yuppiedome

I refuse to admit it. I don't drive a BMW or Scion. I pay rent. I don't shop at Ann Taylor. So why do I feel I am riding the edge of becoming a yuppie? I hate myself for buying at Starbucks (they have the only tea I like) and walking around talking on my cell phone (I don't make calls when out at restaurants with others though-but I judge those who do).

When my conveniences are challenged, I'm close to a melt down. Like some 30 something parent letting their kid scream at the top of their lungs or getting dirty looks from owners when I push their dog away as it licks and paws my new skirt. I am a native city girl, eat lunch at Whole Foods, shop at Trader Joes, recycle, and live in the Haight, all things that I thought used to give me that "urban edge," separating me from the yuppie masses of SF. But I am finding that what was once considered "alterna-culture" is what defines a yuppie here in SF. Maybe I am mislabeling yuppiedome with adulthood? Maybe yuppie isn't the term to use anymore? What should I call it? I mean we have to lable everything to have an identity right? I missed out on my identity. I just missed Generation X and am too old for Y. You can't survive in America without a label, and I refuse to admit I am an adult.