Hopelessly out of step....

Well...there you have it.  I.... am.....hopelessly....out ...of ....step...and I don't even give a rats fanny.  But it was a reminder that Father time is right behind me.  The reason??  Fred and I went to the store to buy the drinks for the party last night and neither of us had a clue what kind of beer thirty somethings drink these days.  When we couldn't reach the honorees or their family members, we had to call in an expert--namely Brian-- since he was available.  A few quick suggestions later, and we hit the store like commandos.  Bruce grabbed the beer as I shouted out orders.....and then we moved on to the wine.  In short order, we were in and out in a heartbeat.
Truthfully, though, we did have a brief consultation with a young couple who looked younger than thirty and when we asked them what kinds of beer to get, the guy only wanted to know how much fun we wanted to have...  Dude....not that much fun....they all have to drive back to Dallas after dinner.  Sober, too, please. He agreed, but that shot us back to old fart status immediately. 

Yesterday was interesting......after visiting with my sister, I got an update on my brother and his wife's "potential" move to LA.  I say potential only because that's how they made it sound initially.  I always felt it was a done deal but then what do I know??  What a difference a week makes.  They have found a renter for their condo here, qualified for a loan to buy in LA, and my money says they are there before Christmas.  Holy Cow.....that was FAST.  I guess when something is supposed to work, the Universe and everything in it, green lights the whole deal.  I personally cannot imagine living in LA.....I think the traffic would undo any enhanced quality of life the beach and mountains might provide.  Great place to visit--don't wanna live there.  Besides....there's always that earthquake prediction and I don't want to be shark bait floating out there in the Pacific, like a big bucket of chum.  Nooooooooo.

Sister is out in the backyard pellet gun hunting with her dad, Jed Clampitt, and they've already killed one squirrel and missed one--or winged him--- and he's gone off to croak somewhere.  Not to be hatin', but you already know the squirrels and I are not friends.  Once you chew my fence and my pillows and dig in my pots, you are off my list.  The only good squirrel is a dead squirrel.