Where Are My Dentures?

Last night Marcus and I came to the conclusion that we are 32 and 30 (respectively) going on 80 as we played Scrabble and complained about the neighborhood kids.  Our specific complaints are generally about the adolescents in the area who walk on our lawn (gasp!), put things in our mailbox (egad!), or play the music so loud in their mother's minivans that it rattles the windows (whipper snappers!).   The sad thing is, it wasn't that long ago that we were both behaving in the same manner and possibly even worse.  For the sake of our parents, who raised two saints, I'll refrain from detailing how we possibly could have behaved worse so we'll just leave it at that.

We have a huge problem with the kids (a young couple) that live in the apartment behind our house for no reason other than they exist.  Whenever something goes amiss I typically blame them.  A beer can in the front yard?  The neighbor assholes.  The mailbox tampered with?  Those jerks.  A leaf out of place?  Definitely the neighbors.  The baby waking-up?  The f***ing neighbors and now I'm out for blood.

I don't know if they can tell we don't like them.  Other than Marcus asking them three times to stop using our lawn to cut across to their apartment (Hey, you kids! Stop walking on my lawn or I'll get my cane and whip ya's!) we haven't made any contact with them.  On the few occasions I've found myself face to face with the male neighbor I barely nod in his direction.  It wouldn't appear that he and I would have much in common anyway other than the fact I used to smoke and drink shitty beer, too.  In regards to the female who lives there, I don't think I would know her if I saw her but part of me wishes I did because she's dating a total loser and should be told as much (Update 12/9/2011:  They're married!  I think they got married because they weren't allowed to have premarital sex is how I'm going to call it).  Looking back, years from now, she'd probably appreciate what I had to say about her choice of mate because I was there once (as evidenced here).

I guess what it boils down to is that Marcus and I are growing older no matter how hard we try and hold-on to our youth.  While both of us have a hard time accepting that in our own way (Marcus thinks I should still rock Daisy Dukes and I don't for the mere fact that I'm 30 and a mother) we have transitioned into our new lives pretty well.  To us, what now constitutes as "cool" are things like going yard sailing or to the Farmer's Market.  While we may look like a bunch of losers to the younger crowd we're still totally hip and with-it, assuming you ask the older crowd.  Plus, we know the two of us could out-party the neighbors.  Even if it means going back a few years.

*Side note:  Marcus, on trying to decide what we should do this weekend, go to a wine festival or celebrate Oktoberfest in town:  "another event that should be cool, which wont be, which I am not excited about..... I really am getting old I guess"  This came in as I was finishing up this blog and was begging to be shared.