There are moments in our lives that help define us; there are also locations. One of these for me is the Cabin, a little bar that is such a part of my college experience.

The 'bin, where I first learned to appreciate a beer buzz, drinking pitcher after pitcher of Killians, laying in my guest room bed after, giggling uncontrollably.

The 'bin where Lisa and I, RAs in the same building, went to hash out so much pain between us.

The 'bin, that had to close when it came to light that their accountant had stolen thousands of dollars over the years.

The 'bin, that reopened under new management tonight.

They completely gutted the place. The pool table, skeeball machine, foosball table, are only memories. The bad carpeting and the bathrooms where graffiti was not only alllowed, but expected, are long gone. In their place is a building that looks like an actual cabin, if by cabin you mean the log homes that people with six-figure salaries build for themselves and call "rustic".

I feel betrayed. Where is the strobe light that they would turn on during drink specials and for people's birthdays? Where is the place that I called safe?

So, for me, the 'bin is still gone. Only a shell remains. A shell I won't return to. Keeping the popcorn isn't enough; given the other changes, it's insulting.

It's hard to justify my response to this. I'm crushed, but I feel like this shouldn't be such a big deal. I'll think about it when I'm sober.