Karmic Payback

Now that I'm back living in Ann Arbor - a college town that thankfully loses half its population during the summer - I relish the emptiness and relative free-for-all available to me as a townie.

First of all, there's this:

I haven't had a hand stamp in a looooooong time, especially since I stopped hitting DC clubs years before I actually left, so this rite was all but forgotten.

It was a college reunion of sorts, which found the former residents of Alice Lloyd Hall reminiscing about 1998-2002 and the fact that admissions carelessly grouped us together. Maybe they knew something. (Other than putting half of the 1998 male graduates of Troy High in the same hallway, I don't think that they have any sort of plan whatsoever, but what the hell do I know - half the population of Long Island seemed to end up living in Mary Markley Hall.)

We started out at Mitch's (oh man. Don't follow that link. It looks like the lamest bar in existence), now in a completely different location than it was when we were twenty-one, and when we arrived to an empty room at 9:30, we felt... well, older. It was then off to The Brown Jug, somewhere I had rarely frequented as a student unless you count pizza and pop with my dad.

So that was new.

Then there were the short-skirted girls who stole chairs from our table each time their occupants went inside to use the restroom.

Should I be worried about karma because we stuck them with our bill?

Short answer? Yes. My karmic payback came the next morning, hungover from two beers.

Ha! Really!

I know that my tolerance is down, as I've really been slacking on the drinking front now that I've discovered alcohol to be one of the antecedents to my recently-diagnosed migraines.

(Wow, how hard was I trying with that sentence?)

But really, my tolerance is way down.

Karma's a bitch.