Looks like Frosh has returned to Toronto once more. I've started to see groups of kids in matching t-shirts with unusual slogans on them, marching through the streets, chanting odd phrases. Either a cult has descended on the city, or it's Frosh. I have a feeling that come Thursday and Friday night, the city center will be rife with them.

Back in the day in Montreal, my friends and I found ourselves in a popular McGill bar during Frosh week. Oh my. Much revelry and hilarity ensued, because the poor harried barmaid was just randomly putting shots in front of people, having completely given up on the idea of taking orders. Nice for us, since we were in our mid-twenties and not affiliated with the University.

The return of Frosh also saddens me, and makes me a bit nostalgic. As any drinker will tell you, as you age, your tolerance level goes way, way down. I can no longer party the way I used to. Like little Jackie Paper growing up, I can no longer keep up with kids these days. Dammit. Last night is a primo example. Friend Bert had a pity party/sleepover last night, with several bottles of wine, which has left me with lovely red eyes to stare at my office computer with for the next 7 hours. I'm tired, headachy, and I have that awful I just can't do this kind of thing on a work night feeling. *sigh* Looks like I'm one of the grownups now.