College ... sigh.

Remember college? I remember college. When I was in college, I had the best Thursdays and Fridays ever. I didn't have to work, I didn't have to go to class, I didn't have to babysit. I could sleep 'til 1 p.m. on Thursdays and then go out that night, and waste all day Friday. Sigh. Those were the days.

Well, I was feeling a little nostalgic, so last night we went to The Bar for some chicken wings, and then to Appleton's Tom's Garage. "The band plays at 10," Dave told me. Cool. I can go, get home like at midnight or 12:30. Not too bad.

But when he said 10, he meant 12. Two mediocre bands went first, and then came The Blueheels, which was awesome, as you probably gathered by my mentioning them all the time (sorry, they're my current favorites). Got home at 1:45, but it was so worth it. Even when I wanted to die instead of waking up this morning because my ears were ringing and I was tired, it was still worth it. EVEN when ... OK, you get it.

So basically, I felt today like I used to feel after staying up all night at a sleepover. Only I really lost like, three hours of sleep, which must mean I'm way more into this work-day schedule than my rock-star self wants to be. And by rock star, I mean ... not a rock star.

SPEAKING of old and music: last night, during the mediocre bands, some old guy* was out on the dance floor in his cooool '80s jean jacket with matching pants, dancing like he was at Woodstock. More power to you, guy, but at least keep a beat. I'd tell you more, but ...

That reminds me of a little time in college when I wrote a column about Flash, a Toledo legend. She danced like every song was straight outta Miami, circa 1991. She came alone to bars and danced like it was her job, and she was horrible. I decided it'd be cool to write 500 words about her -- ha, ha, wouldn't that be cool? Only I forgot she'd actually read it, most likely.

And then a friend of mine said "I know her," and showed the column to her. And then she hated me, and added daggers to her dance routines. I couldn't ever go to those bars again.

Ergo, you can make up your own old man dancing story. I learned my lesson.

Ah, college.

(*Ok, by "old" I mean he wasn't in his forties anymore, which isn't old per se, but it is old to be out 'til 1 a.m. dancing like that on a school night.)