WHEN MY CHILDHOOD best friend Megan Pauls and I were young hipsters, trying to find our way in our newly discovered hipster world, we would spend a lot of time contemplating where all the truly cool kids hung out.

We would sit in the In-N-Out on Blackstone and Ashlan, the ultimate hangout for Fresno bands after shows, and ask ourselves, “Where are all the really rad hangouts, the places we haven’t yet discovered? Fresno is full of almost half a million people — where is everyone, I mean everyone that really mattered?

Now I̢۪ve given up my hunt because I̢۪m all grown up and I̢۪ve realized something about those cool kids and myself.

Growing up is hard work, especially when you grow up into a corporate sellout. Yep, that’s right, at the ripe old age of 23 I’ve realized that I have become the complete opposite of my true self, practically evil incarnate, if you will — a corporate sellout.

This was no easy process. I didn̢۪t wake up one morning and turn into a slimy goon. I slowly morphed as I shed bits and pieces of my former identity. Trust me, this wasn̢۪t an easy decision, it wasn̢۪t really a decision at all but a necessity.

The lifestyle of an indie hipster just doesn’t pay the bills. Unless of course, you’re really an indie hipster rock star — and really, an indie rock star is a contradiction in itself, and the ultimate sellout. I’m sure that the lead singer of The Shins has dealt with this identity crisis himself and to a much larger degree.

Before I delve into this new me, let me paint you a picture of my former pure, hipster self. Sarah Marie Pittman — this was a girl who worked at a cute little boutique in the Tower district and drove the coolest of the cool in vehicles — why, only a maroon, 1989 Volvo station wagon would do. She was a vegetarian of course and played only the best in indie rock on her college radio show.

And now look at me — sitting here eating my salami and pepperoni sandwich, ready to go off to a hard day at my corporate bank job (Does it get any more corporate than that? A bank, too corporate to even mention, in part because I don’t think it would see the humor in all of this).

Outside is parked my practically-2007-but-not-quite Toyota Corolla and now that I̢۪ve given up being a disc jockey at the college station, I think I want to purchase Gwen Stefani̢۪s new album. (She is another shining example of a corporate sellout. Gwen, why have you forsaken us and your beloved old school ska No Doubt?)

I think I knew for sure that I was no longer my indie hipster self when I discovered one of my favorite cardigans (a necessity in any hipster or granny wardrobe) had a hole in it, and I decided that this just wouldn̢۪t do. I̢۪m not saying that as an indie hipster I loved holes in my clothes and was a total street-urchin-punk-kid. It̢۪s just that a hole wouldn̢۪t have mattered that much, might have given one̢۪s clothes some vintage flair, but now it just wouldn̢۪t do in the world of corporate America.

Or maybe I knew for sure that I had left the indie world of cool when apartment hunting with my fiancé a month or so ago. Of course we checked out the Tower district first in our search for our new perfect home but by the end of the day we discovered that rather than move into a grittier, cooler section of Fresno we wanted something nicer for ourselves, something more North Fresno.

Actually, stop right there. I just realized that all those supposed cool kids were right under my nose, or rather right under their own roofs, relaxing in their own homes after a hard day at their corporate jobs. And they had the right idea.

Being a corporate sellout isn̢۪t necessarily a bad thing. Is it wrong to want the nicer things in life?

Oh yeah, and that whole vegetarian thing — pizza just isn’t pizza without pepperoni. And to tell you the truth, rather than buy the new Bright Eyes CD, I think I’m going to check out the Gwen Stefani CD. Her new single is too good.

Being an indie hipster doesn’t pay the bills and I’m ready to grow up — and invest in some nicer cardigans. Well, one thing’s for sure, rather than finding me in your neighborhood Starbucks, I will be in the Tower district at my old haunt, the Revue. I must take a stand for the old indie hipster elitist in me and not darken Starbucks’ corporate doors again. Besides, there’s no time to stop there on my way to work at the bank.