But which home is home?

We’ve been following Charlsie, a 2010 grad, on her journey through the post-grad life, from the big move to the big job hunt to the major “Is this real life?!” moments. And now, with fall in full swing, she’s got something else weighing on her mind.

Whether we want to believe it or not, the holidays are approaching. I know, it feels like summer just started – even though it really just ended – but the reality is that temperatures are dropping, leaves are starting to change, and before we know it, it’ll be time for turkey, presents, and busy shopping malls. Like many people, I’m left with the question of where to spend the holidays at.

In college, it was so black and white. For the holidays, I made the seven hour drive home to my mom’s for Thanksgiving break and winter break. My dad isn’t a big fan of celebrating the holidays, so whether he spent the season with my sister and me or not – it didn’t matter to him either way. So, when the holidays started to come up in discussion with my family, I immediately figured I’d go home to Atlanta.

But I can’t help but feel like I’m leaving someone else behind, no matter what kind of holiday location choice I make. And since plane tickets nearly cost an arm and a legs these days, it makes things even more complicated. Really, it seems impossible to please everyone.

For example, my boyfriend and his family have invited me to go skiing with them in Colorado for the holiday (I have never gone skiing before, this could be disastrous). As much as I want to, I don’t have the money for a plane ticket, ski rentals, and all other miscellaneous costs. It broke my heart having to say no, but at the same time, it would have broken my heart to not spend the holidays with my family. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

It feels like no matter what I pick though, I’m screwing someone over. If I’m not with my boyfriend (who I rarely get to see – long distance relationship, thank you for that), I worry about when we’ll see each other next. When I’m with my mom and sister, I worry about not being with my dad. When I’m out here in California, I worry about Keeping Up With the Kardashians (and discussing every detail with my sister).

Right now, I know I’m going to see my mom for Christmas, but I have no clue as to what I’m doing for Thanksgiving. Should I stay here with my dad? Should I head to my grandparents’ place for a few days? Should I meet my boyfriend in St. Louis? Should I just book myself a plane ticket and head to Cancun with a bottle of tequila and forget it all?

But seriously, I feel like this is on the beginning of my “Where do I go for the holidays?” future. You see it all the time in movies and on TV, couples trying to decide where to spend the holidays. People being split up amongst their divorced, dysfunctional parents. Families debating on whether to go to grandma in Tennessee’s house or grandma in Iowa’s house. Yikes. Decisions, decisions – just another thing to look forward to as I get older.

One thing is certain, though. Just because I’m a post-grad doesn’t mean I can avoid the hustle and bustle and shopping of the holiday season. No one can. Not even in October.

“I just cooked dinner for myself, and I didn’t even wish it was dining hall food.”
“I’m paying my bills on time this month – like a real adult!”
“I’m turning into my mother now that I’m out of college.”
“How adult of me! I went to a job interview!”

I can’t lie; I’m guilty of putting this idea of being an adult on some kind of pedestal. In fact, if my vocabulary was monitored like songs played on iTunes, it definitely would have the phrase “how adult of me” or just the word “adult” on the top of the charts. Here I am, dabbling with my big toe (not even my whole foot) into whatever adulthood really is, and I’m making a big stink about it.

For example, when I wear heels to my internship (hello – it’s not even a job!), I check myself out in the elevator door reflection and think to myself “How fashionably adult of you.” Funny enough, when I take the heels off after a long red carpet outing, I make fun of my old-college self, “Oh look at you, switching into your trusty Rainbows – the ones that accompanied you to nearly every class senior year.”

And trust me; you don’t even want to hear my adult-o-meter going off when I do household things, especially cooking. Whenever I make dinner for myself, I toot my horn like I just climbed the Mt. Everest of Italian cooking. In fact, I get so worked up over being this LSAT student by day, intern by choice, and wannabe chef by night, I spend hours searching for new recipes and I make out grocery lists ahead of time, so I can continue to evolve into a ‘real’ adult in the kitchen.

The other night though, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. How silly is all of this “adult” talk. Seriously. So many things that I am now calling “adult” are things that have been the norm for awhile. Like, my boyfriend and I cooked on a nightly basis all throughout college, but here I am, making the same meal that he and I have been making for over two years, acknowledging that I’m an adult simply because I made a meal for myself. Huh? What’s changed? Oh wait – nothing, really.

I have a diploma, and yes, I’m learning the ropes of the real world outside of college, but this doesn’t mean that I haven’t had an adventure or two into adulthood sometime in the last four years, so, why do my post-grad friends and I seem so amused with our new status? I don’t really know, maybe being out of that grungy college house makes it all feel more real. Or maybe society is changing.

Our parents’ generation regarded 18 as being a full-fledged adult. People used to leave the house once they turned 18, whether they were going to college or not, and whether or not their parents were going to support them. It was the way things were. Now, it’s the norm for 20-somethings to move back in with their parents after college, and it’s entirely more commonplace for parents to help financially support their kids – even ones that have jobs and no college debt! When I interned in New York City throughout college, I met so many women in their late 20s and early 30s who had their parents paying their rent, giving them allowances, and helping support their shopping habits. 30 years ago, parents would not be footing the bill for their 32-year-old daughter – no way!

So, does this make adulthood appear later in one’s life? Sometimes it seems like post-grad is the official wake-up call, but it doesn’t mean the idea of being an adult is something that happens overnight. It’s a gradual process, and maybe our generation is taking longer to make their way to adulthood than generations before us. Either way, I still think it’s funny how I can be so scared about “becoming an adult,” but yet so excited to charge into that realm when it feels right.

Maybe post-grad life gives us the best of both worlds – the cushioning of our parents and the exhilaration of kinda-sorta being on our own. Or maybe, because I’m scared/confused/lost/really missing college, I’m just trying to find something to get excited about.

There comes a tipping point where you have to say “enough is enough,” and you either need to fix what is driving you to the edge or take a step back to realize what needs to be fixed. My tipping point just arrived and resulted in me saying: “I quit!”

So, you know those people I was playing nanny for? Besides the peach cobbler incident, things have been okay. In fact, the family hired me on as their accountant/bookkeeper – so I have been doing tax forms and working with thousands and thousands of receipts for the last few weeks. However, things started going south pretty fast once I started playing the role of babysitter and bookkeeper!

There were tons of demands. It was like once they had me around all the time, they would do anything to keep me there. For example, I would give the family my schedule and they would be mad because I had LSAT class or a few hours out of the day blocked off to study – things they knew when they hired me from the start. They started wanting me to nanny and do bookkeeping work at the same time – but they only wanted to pay me for bookkeeping, despite me watching their young children. Then it turned into almost full-time hours, when I only want to work part-time. And, the worst part was when the pay became sporadic. As I write this, I still need to be paid for nearly a $100 worth of work. Do I think I’ll see the money? No, but at least I’ll have my sanity back.

About two weeks ago, I realized I haven’t had a day off in nearly two weeks. Every day was constant LSAT studying, practice tests, classes to attend, and then nonstop babysitting and bookkeeping work. And to top it all off, since I started working there I have contracted the following: pink eye, a random eye infection, ring worm, and a stomach virus – all because the kids have had these things. After having pink eye back to back, you start to feel the effects. So, I started asking myself why was I depending so much on just a few bucks here and there? It seemed stupid to waste so much time doing things that aren’t going to help me get to where I need to be and want to be in the future.

However, my boiling point really came over the weekend. The dad told me that I should be able to finish all the accounting work by that day, and I told him that would be impossible. Even if I worked for 72 hours straight – there was no feasible way that I would finish. In response to this, he said to me “Well, you must be stupid or something.” And then he told me I had to cancel my trip to St. Louis (I’m going to see my boyfriend) — something I planned and booked over a month ago! Huh, what? Wait, did you just call me stupid?

No sir, in fact, I’m not stupid. The only stupid thing is your behavior towards me. It was unacceptable for him to say this, so I just had enough and did my first real adult “I quit” moment. I’m sorry, but no one is going to call me stupid for no reason – especially in a situation like that. Yes, I may be a newly post-graduate student trying to figure things out in the world, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. If he wanted the accountant books to be complete by this week, he should have had someone start it months ago — not three weeks ago!

Although I need the money, I have to admit – I feel better already. I will have more time to study and time for myself, so I really can’t complain. And although I won’t be working, I’m not getting too discouraged – something will have to turn up…it always does.

I don't know what to do!

Looking back, college didn’t require a lot of serious decision making – even though I thought it did. For the most part, I made decisions about frivolous things such as: Should I wear pajamas to class today? Should I stick to rum and Coke or go for the Jager bombs? Should I go out tonight or should I spend time working on that eleven-page term paper? I know at times these choices sure stressed me out, but looking back, they really didn’t matter the way post-grad decisions seem to.

A lot of difficult decisions have come my way recently. There was me deciding where to live. Atlanta, Georgia or Southern California? It was not an easy choice to make, and many factors played into my choice to move to California. Then there was the decision of what to spend my time doing. Should I reapply to graduate schools for next year or pursue my other dream of becoming a lawyer? These questions required a lot of long-term thinking, and I’m glad that I had the time and the options to choose from. However, now that life is moving full speed ahead – more life-decisions are coming my way and many of them are giving me a day to decide, instead of a month or two.

So, you know how I was running my mouth last week about no jobs being available and how awful it is trying to find something? Well, that very same day, I received a call back from a marketing firm wanting to hire me for an entry level position. A real adult job. One with benefits and a respectable first year salary. One that requires business professional attire from 8:30am to 5:30pm. A marketing firm with connections to major Fortune 500 companies.

Sounds great, right? Well, they could only take me on as a full-time worker Monday-Friday, with a lot of events that I would be required to attend on the weekends. My initial reaction was whether or not I could balance my LSAT prep course and study time in the midst of having a blossoming career path. Could I do both? Maybe, but I’m not someone that does things half-assed, so a balancing act possibly could jeopardize my work experience and hurt my practice for the LSAT.

So, I had to make a tough decision – which is more important to me right now? A job that could have me making some serious coinage with benefits, while offering me an interesting perspective, or sticking to my long-term plan of becoming a lawyer? A lot of people I talked to told me to basically take the money and run with the full-time job and that I could always go back to law school a few years from now. Although I want to have lots of money one day and be successful, I didn’t feel like making a decision based upon money was the right way to figure this debacle out.

In the end, I decided to stick to my plan to attend law school next year. Although I think taking something so spur of the moment like that job offer could have been good, I feel more secure with my plan of prepping for the LSAT, taking the exam in October, and applying to law schools during the fall. My decision to reach for law school (and in the meantime apply for part-time jobs and internships) definitely makes me feel secure with my ambitions to work in the profession of law one day. I could have easily sold myself out and said “You know, the LSAT and the application process to law school sucks – this could be an easier way out,” but instead, I decided to challenge myself and look to the future.

Even though I have not been able to find a part-time job anywhere (since when do waitresses need three years experience to serve?), I have to admit – the call backs I have received (all from full-time positions, of course) and the interest from a major marketing company makes me feel pretty good about my resume and career prospects in the future. And luckily, I’m starting to hear back from some internship programs that will overlook me not being able to get class credit!

So, here’s looking to the future and holding out for what I truly want!
…Let’s just hope it all works out.

A narrative about four friends at Smith College, an all women’s college in Massachusetts (famous alumnae include Gloria Steinem, Julia Child, Sylvia Plath, Betty Friedan…just to name a few), Sullivan captures the essence of what it means to make friends in the richest sense of the word, while chronicling life on campus and post-graduation adulthood.

Each character is truly distinct, making the novel easy to identify with. Think the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, except more adult. Sally, Celia, Bree, and April are four very different women, but their individuality weaves together beautifully, showing that sisterhood looks past Sally’s love for Lily Pulitzer, Celia’s conservative-yet-wild side, Bree’s Southern Belle charm, and April’s radical feminism to form a life-long bond, even if the girls couldn’t be more uncommon from each other.

Sullivan, alumnae of Smith herself, paints the all women’s atmosphere just as it should be, a unique and tradition-filled roller coaster of emotions. Giving an accurate glimpse of what it means to be a young woman at a college without men, Sullivan does not degrade Smith or the single-sex setting, but instead lifts it up and showcases it in a light that most do not see when they hear “all women.”

Honest and captivating, Commencement tackles the strength it takes to maintain a friendship, especially once Sally, Celia, Bree, and April are on their own as adults. Not sugarcoating the hardships of rape, first loves, untraditional ideals, and fighting for what you believe in, Sullivan doesn’t leave anything out (seriously, topics from marriage to sex-trafficking appear) – showing how hard it can be to grow up, and how hard it can be for young women today.

With rave reviews from everyone from Gloria Steinem to People magazine, and to Entertainment Weekly, Sullivan’s first novel hit home and gave her a place in popular writing today. Whether you are in college now or on your own post-grad, this novel will tug at your heart strings with memories of your own experience and undoubtedly, you will find yourself in the pages of this page turner.

- Reruns of Home Improvement took me back to the days when it was the only show my mom would let me stay up to watch because of my borderline unhealthy crush on JTT.
- My mom sent me some old family photos, including one of me donning a skort. When it was cool.
- And my roommate reminding me of the days when you had to hear that obnoxious dial-up tone just to get some awesome IM chat time on AOL.

Ahhh…the good ol’ days.

Now are the days of so-called “adulthood,” when mom no longer is in charge of selecting and purchasing your wardrobe (the purchasing part I didn’t mind so much…) and you are now responsible for updating your wardrobe with the latest trends every season by yourself.  The internet is now available everywhere (well, mostly) without that obnoxious dial-up tone, so that’s cool, but unless you are lucky enough win one, you have to actually purchase your own computer? What the eff?

And what’s this I hear about books being old news?

And don’t even get me started on the guy front. Who woulda thunk we’d actually be turning to guys for love advice? I mean, what happened to the days of sleepovers and gushing over some stupid note your crush passed you? Now, we are bombarded with where to meet guys, how to meet guys, wah wah wah. Between the dating scene and what alcoholic beverage I should down first, being grown up is exhausting!

Ugh. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m totes missing the days of math homework and skorts.

And now, a year has nearly passed, and I am about to turn the big 2-1. It is the day I can not only legally buy alcohol, but the day that all college students look forward to as their last passage into adulthood on campus (at least before senior year). It is the day that I can no longer get sent to student conduct council for underage drinking. The day I can walk up to the bar and order a mojito, legally. I no longer will have to worry about being carded when trying to order a drink somewhere. The day that I turn into a real adult – whatever that means – as decided by the world.

But really, how do I spend this occasion?

In my dream world, I would hire Girl Talk to do live mash-ups of Elton John, Britney Spears, and Guns N Roses while I dance alongside my best friends in dresses that aren’t just from H&M and Forever 21 in some sparkly New York City bar where we throw back pink cocktails in between cupcakes. But I don’t live in a dream world. In fact, I live in Roanoke, Virginia – which is as far from my dream world as I can get for my birthday, especially since there isn’t even a Forever21 of H&M for 60+ miles.

Although the reality of my 21st birthday may not sparkle in a New York City kinda way (however, my nails probably will in a cheap-nailpolish-glittery-concoction type of way), I am not going to let that stop me from having one of the best nights of my college experience. The question of how to do it, though – and not just do it, but do it well – plagues me.

Where do I have my party? In the sketchy upstairs backstage area of my university’s recital hall where I got caught with not one, but two bottles of champagne enwrapped in my arms last year as my friends and I stomped around to Miley Cyrus? What about in my boyfriend’s cheerless off campus house with his awful roommates skipping around the scene? At the bar in a town where college hangs-outs don’t really exist? Or maybe I should just have my party on my computer, testing out Skype for the first time with my friend who went abroad to Argentina? Does location even matter anymore, or is the night just about getting drunk?

Who should come? My close friends or anyone who somehow decides my birthday is important enough via the joke of a Facebook event they received? Do I invite my 18 year old sister and her boyfriend up for the weekend to witness the madness and hope that I keep my dress down (or up) for the night? What if I just invite myself and call it a day? Spending a 21st birthday alone – now that would be interesting.

Should there be a theme? Perhaps College Trainwreck would be appropriate? Afterall, images of Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears circa 2007 make great inspiration! Or should the theme simply be me making an ass out of myself, as if my last birthday wasn’t enough when I decided wearing hot pink tights with a black tunic that wasn’t long enough to stay down was a good idea?

But seriously, when it comes to the sport of turning 21, what is a girl supposed to do?

Should I run into the closest liquor store and declare that it is my birthday? Should I wear my driver’s license on my sleeve and shout out my birthdate: “02/24/1988″ over and over again? Do I wear a plastic tiara and carry in balloons with me just to pick up a bottle of rum or two (or three)?

Do I attempt taking 21 shots? Do I stick to one type of alcohol or jump around until the room spins and I call it a night? Do I invest in a blender to make cocktails, or should I just slap down the money on the bar and tell the bartender to pour me another?

Maybe I should keep it innocent and kick it old-school style. I’m sure I can find some clowns to come make balloon animals and paint butterflies and kittens on my friends’ faces for the same price I may spend on alcohol. Or maybe I could do an assortment of games, including pin the tail on the donkey and balloon races – bubbles and whoopee cushions can replace Jello shots as prizes! I’m sure that would make my mom proud!

I am the first of my friends to turn 21, and I feel that it is my contractual obligation as their friend to start the year off right, birthday-wise. 21 gives the impression of a college milestone, and another passage into adulthood. With so many options and so many high expectations, really … what am I supposed to do?

Now it’s your turn; tell me what you did to celebrate your 21st or how you plan to ring in your own birthday this year. I need ideas, people. Help!

I told my mother the other day that I felt like I was getting old and she laughed at me. She said she didn’t want to hear sh*t about getting old until I went through menopause. Fair enough.

But that doesn’t detract from the fact that I feel thirty and all of its dastardly implications creeping up behind me, breathing warm and horrifying down my neck. Here are some signs that I’m getting old; my youth and lack of responsibility fading farther and farther into the distance. Keep in mind that there is a distinction between getting old and becoming more mature, as one can see in the way I respond to my family in #8.

10. I don’t listen to music on the radio anymore. I listen to NPR. All Day. Every single day of the week. And then when I get to work, I listen to it online. And in podcast form.

9. I have a thing for older men.

8. My family has moved on from asking when I’m going to get married to when I’m going to have a baby. To which my inner voice triumphantly screams, “NEVER, SUCKAS!”

7. I can’t get drunk anymore. And I don’t even feel like trying. Frightning, I know. When I do drink, I drink wine.

6. My main source of exercise is step aerobics.

5. I refuse to get a new car because I like my 97 Volvo just fine, thank you, and new cars are a horrible investment, what with the depreciation.

4. I don’t understand kids today.

3. My Christmas and birthday lists included not DVDs, books, CDs, MP3 players, etc as it had in previous years. Instead, I really wanted some new bakeware. And a nice new set of sheets. And, okay, a book about the Dust Bowl.

2. My facebook status currently says, no joke and totally unironically, “Yay! My Unsolved Mysteries DVDs are in!” And an episode totally made me cry today.

1. I wake up early every morning, at like 6:30. For. No. Reason. I don’t have to be at work until 10 or so. And I spend that extra time drinking coffee and reading a book. Sometimes, if I’m feeling extra frisky, I do my step aerobics.

Help?

In my early teen years I’d hang out at the skatepark and take trips out of town with as many people as we could pack in a van to watch bands play; later, at the end of my high school career, weeknights were spent driving around, listening to jams and making pointless stops at WalMart, and weekends were spent partaking in outlandish late-night drinking shenanigans accompanied by board games.

Then I went to college. And while some of my best friends did attend the same school as me, and while I did meet a handful of fantastic new people, for the most part, I was pretty miserable. I went from a small town where I had known everyone for 5+ years to a giant school filled with rich kids from suburbia who wouldn’t know real fun if it kicked them in the teeth.

As I had thought since age 11 that this was where I wanted to go to college, for two years I gave it a go and tried my best to enjoy myself. And I did, to some degree: there were definitely some experiences at college that I wouldn’t trade for anything. But every time I went home, the fun I had at college paled in comparison. These were my people. This was where I belonged. And yet, I couldn’t stay in my hometown, what would I do with myself? Get married, get a job at the bank, and pump out some kids? That was not an option.

So eventually, I ran away, from both college and home, and went to New Zealand. And there, for a brief period of time, I kind of found My Home, Part 2. I was living in the staff quarters at a four star lodge in a national park, spending my off hours lounging on the beach or running in the woods or bonding with my incredibly chill, awesomely hard-partying international coworkers. For about a month, life was totally zen. Then, the winds of change started blowing again and I was off to other parts of the country, and then back, again, to my hometown.

That summer was like every other summer of my life – filled with campfires and swimming and boating and hiking and concerts and late night talks under the stars. But somehow, underneath it all was the sense that I was getting older, that we all were, and we couldn’t keep doing the same shit we had been doing since we were thirteen. Things had to change.

In the fall, I packed up my crap again and headed east, this time to New York, where I still am now. For the past seven months, I’ve looked for jobs, gotten jobs, quit jobs, gone to bars, gone to restaurants, gone to museums, met new people, had friends visit, stayed in, gone out, done all the things you do when you’re a young adult living in the greatest city in the world. And yet the only thing I can think is, is this all there is?

Is this it? Do we get older only to abandon the pure joy of living and become mindless drones who go to work and make money only to spend it on “going out” and “cultural experiences” and “long-term investments?” I like to think that I’m the kind of person who thinks outside of the box and seeks adventure; I mean, hell, I quit school and went to New Zealand and then moved out to New York City, right? But I can’t help but feel like I have reached the pinnacle of life that you aspire to reach when you’re a kid, that point in adulthood when you’re old enough to live on your own in a fabulous place but young enough to do whatever you want without a whole lot of responsibilities to worry about, and yet, I’ve never felt so…blah.

When I was younger, everything was awesome. Life was intensely interesting and every day was an adventure. The simplest activities were fun and exciting and my friends and I were always thinking of new and amazing sh*t to do. There was this sense that everything we were doing was the exact right thing to be doing at that moment, and everything in the universe was perfect.

And my friends! My friends from home, to this day, continue to be the most hilarious, fantastic people I have ever met. Which isn’t to say I haven’t met some great new people with excellent things to offer, because I have. But never have I met people quite as hilarious and insightful and genuine as people in my hometown.

So what to do? How do I handle this? Should I just buck up, count my blessings, and press on? If I tell myself that things are as shiny as I thought they would be when I was thirteen, will they be? Will things improve, or is this a permanent leveling off of my life that I’ll come to accept? Is this just what growing up is?

I know I sound like a spoiled brat, whining about a life I’m lucky to have. I guess I pretty much am a spoiled brat, whining about a life I’m lucky to have. But I suppose I’m writing this because I feel like I can’t be the only one going through what amounts to a quarterlife crisis, but feels like the terminal loss of true joy in my life. There have to be other people out there who have made it this far only to feel ultimately disillusioned with what life has to offer. Right?

Right?

If a recent poll on this site is indicative of college-aged women across the US (and I would suggest, modestly, that the women who visit CollegeCandy are above average intelligence) then most of us drink at parties to get drunk, to get wasted.

I understand that it’s become a college rite-of-passage to go to parties and drink too much. Repeatedly. For years. Hell, I have a year of my life that I barely remember and what I do remember, I wish I didn’t.

And doesn’t that just say it all? I know that I had a great time that year and met some great people, but I did a lot of stuff I wish I hadn’t. And I met a lot of awful people. And I had a lot of rough mornings.

But there is no use in trying to tell a college student not to drink, that in the long run, you’ll probably feel more embarrassed than nostalgic about those months or years spent in a haze. And I don’t necessarily think that people shouldn’t drink (I love beer), I just wonder about the mentality that seems to have permeated our society that in order to truly have the optimal amount of fun that one has to be completely wasted.

Especially because the opposite is true; I’ve found that the more wasted one becomes, the more obnoxious, the more forgetful, and the less cautious.

So why do kids today drink so godd*mn much? Are we trying to assert ourselves as adults? No, because nothing makes a 21-year-old look more like a stupid 21-year-old than decorating their bedrooms with Miller High Life Paraphernalia, or talking incessantly about that other night when they got totally trashed and like, totally made out with that guy.

Are we trying to seem cool, or fun? Maybe, although I would argue that passing out half naked in a pool of one’s own vomit isn’t especially cool.

I think what we’re trying to do is dull the pain and confusion that comes with growing up, faced as we all are with the imminence of adulthood and the responsibility that comes with it. And so we try to have as much fun and engage in as much irresponsibility as we can while we still can. Sounds innocuous enough, but it’s become perverted into something sad and troubling.

For one thing, drinking heavily can become a habit that is difficult to break, one that can follow you far after college graduation. There have also been studies to show a direct correlation between heavy drinking and poor grades. Most startling for women, however, is the affect alcohol has on our ability to make decisions about sex. One out of five college students who usually practice safe sex do not wear protection if they have sex while intoxicated and 60% of women who are infected with STI’s have contracted them while under the influence.

It’s time that we start taking better care of ourselves. We aren’t as invincible as we may feel.