"Bottle of red, bottle of white"*

Talk about a sweet weekend.

My brother and his fiancee came up. Chicken wings. Check. Shopping, check. Movies, games, good wine, check check check. Yeah, you read that right. Good wine. We're all grown up now. Ha.

Wine was always something really warm and nasty that came in a brass goblet in church and made me want to gag because I had to drink out of it after old slobbery guys. Sorry if you just lost your Cheerios thinking about that. If I had Cheerios, I'd be losing them right now.

But now, we went and picked out a wine based on having seen it before (the bottle we chose on Friday was one I'd had a few weeks ago at dinner with some friends, and only stuck out because it had a burgundy label with a rabbit on it; Saturday's was chosen because Dad had it on his shelf once). And it was good. Whoa. Whoa. Yeah. I'll say it again. Whoa. A few short years ago, we were playing beer pong. Now that just seems kinda ridiculous. Not to mention the ping-pong table's been gone since I've stopped paying to skip classes.

Not that I'm aspiring to be a connoisseur. I don't have the attention span for that. Don't start asking me questions about the wine; I'll just embarrass myself. I just know it's in the second aisle in the grocery store, and it has a rabbit on it. And it's red. And it's good. And I feel older for not choosing the Pabst because it's cheap. Ha. Sigh. Erin grows up.

*Give yourself three points if you knew that was a Billy Joel line.

(Photo: I only chose this photo because it looks like there's a Christmas tree in the background. It's from Fodors.)