Note to self - You, my dear, are old.

"Say it ain't so!" you may say, but sadly, it is true.

Last night, me, my friend Kelli, my friend Trisha, and Trisha's sister Pam went to see George Strait down in the city. Trisha had scored us third row seats baby!

We went to Chelino's (Mexican food) for dinner and frozen concoctions (plural) beforehand and then to the Biting Sow (blues bar) for an after dinner shot and another round of adult beverages. We shot some pool and piddle-farted around until show time. I won't go into the details of just how inebriated I was and how I had to explain to the rude people going up and down the stairs how "In America, we walk on the *right* side."

Anywho...back to the *old* business...there we were, sitting in the third row. THIRD. ROW. It was loud. And in loud, I don't mean "Can you turn that down? I can't hear the TV." I mean "I know you are talking 'cause I can see your lips moving, but that's about it." My friend Kelli would lean over and yell something in my ear and I would just smile and nod, but really, I had no clue what the girl said. Then when old George came out, I honestly thought my ears were bleeding. Hey, George Strait touring company, turn the instruments down. We want to hear him, not just drums and steel guitars. I don't even know why the man had backup singers. You couldn't even hear them at all.

Ah...life is good.

By the way, my little guy turned four this week.