All the folks trapped here in glamorous Oxford for the summer recently had the pleasure of taking a glance into the future during good old Miami University of Ohio Alumni Weekend. And let me tell you something, besides having the ability to shit your pants and people finding it socially acceptable we don't have too much to look forward to. Alumni weekend is a great time to visit your old stomping grounds while reliving some amazing memories with your pals. It's also apparently a hall pass to act like a total fucking lunatic. Maybe it's the rush of getting driven around in those totally dope Miami golf carts during the scheduled MU activities during the day that makes miami alumnus lose their goddamn minds. Or maybe it's just that one eighth of a sugary alcoholic drink you and your buddies started nursing at 8PM interacting poorly with your shingles meds, I don't know I'm not a learn-ed doctor. What I do know is there's a better chance of seeing Prez-dawg Hodge stumbling down high street waving a bottle of Kamchatka over his head belting Alice Cooper's "School's Out" than catching a gentleman alumni escorting a young miss back to her house in Oxford for some late night wine and a bit of light jazz.
And as much as it pains me to admit this, I know it's not just the men creeping around Oxford once alumni weekend rolls around. Ladies, you're giving women all over the country a bad fucking name. You may have spent your money on some lipo, rock hard boobies, and giant twizzler lips (see: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Twizzlers%20lips&defid=3249486 for a definition if you need it Rainman) and just because you spend hours at the gym doing kickbox-yogallatis-class or whatever the fuck it's called to preserve what's left of your youth doesn't necessarily qualify you for the cougar of the year award. I've seen one too many fizzled out women wandering around uptown looking like a close relative of the fucking Crypt Keeper.
Yes, you may have been a keg crushing boss hog 24 year old fifth year back in '58 but now my friend you're a perfect candidate for the Denny's Over 50 part of the menu. It's also safe to say no one gives a shit if you were the hottest cheerleader back when Lyndon Johnson was president and we were still known as the big, bad (and slightly racist) RedSkins. The emotional sting of having that heavy truth unloaded on your ass must be similar to your most recent colonoscopy but it needed to be said. Regardless of how totally rad you were in college once you start developing liver spots it's time to put down the mind probe and retire nicknames like Beast, Worm, and Bulldog.
Don't get me wrong, I am well aware that I'll be wandering the streets of Oxford 40 years from now looking like a wax figurine version of myself, ripping Starry Night shots in Brick St., and attempting to pick up some young stud muffin just to prove "I still got it" but until then I'm recommending to college alumni worldwide slowly remove yourself from your college hang out and go slap on a cardigan because it's 5pm and although it's happy hour for all us twenty somethings, it's your supper time bitch.
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