He rolled up to the diner in his shiny Olds, turning every head on Main Street.

Olds discovered an old letter in the attic that revealed a family secret.

I'm picking up the olds from the station tomorrow.

The museum curator wrote an essay about the oldnesses of the artifacts, comparing patina, wear, and restoration.

When I asked how his day had been, he just shrugged and said it was the same-old same-old.

When I walked into the office, I realized it would be the same-old, same-old: endless meetings and recycled ideas.

When I asked how work was, he shrugged and said, "same old, same old."

After months of unexpected changes, returning to the office felt like the same old same old.

Every meeting had turned into the same old-same old, with everyone repeating the usual suggestions.

Every day feels like the same old same-old for her, but she still manages a smile.