[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though some are WAY worse than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I am currently studying abroad in an unspecified location in the world. We’ll just say… not in the U.S. (really narrowing it down there). My host university always organizes events at bars and such for students, but my roommates and I usually just pass on them because they just wind up being these huge all-American fests. But the other night we actually decided to go because this particular bar, in the red-light district, was serving unlimited free wine and beer between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. and, honestly, who could pass that up?

We did our usual pregame before the bar and all 4 out of my 4 roommates wound up getting wasted. Literally, couldn’t stand up, needed-to-borrow-the-flip-flops-I-conveniently-had-in-my-purse wasted. Mind you, it was only around 8 p.m. We hadn’t even left the house and I was already fully concerned about my roommates’ well-being, mainly because bouncers in this particular city are extremely strict with blatantly belligerent people trying to enter into their clubs (I wonder why…).

But I was worrying for nothing. Somehow all of us managed to get let in and the real (free) drinking quickly began. After we all scurried over to the bar to grab some drinks I wound up chatting it up with an adorable American guy for a really long time while all my roommates disappeared into another adjacent room. I wasn’t too worried though; it was a pretty small place. Only when I finally made my way over there, let’s say around 9:30 p.m., 2 out of the 4 girls were missing.

The 2 girls I actually found (we’ll call them Christine and Ally) were pretty much too drunk to notice/care that the other 2 girls (Kaitlin and Jane) had vanished and were nowhere to be found. Soon after, Christine started making out with some short, relatively unattractive man (something extremely uncharacteristic of her) and Ally was on the dance floor with some guy.

I tried to awkwardly interfere and bother them a couple times about our lost roommates, but they just kind of told me to not worry about it. So, I went to find a quiet spot in the bar to call Jane, one of the MIAs. After I talked to her, I found out she decided to just up and leave for home without telling any of us. I kind of thought she sounded a bit strange because she wasn’t responding to most of my questions, but I (wrongly) assumed I just woke her. Ally then frantically grabbed me and told me we needed to leave because she just got a call from a nearby police station that said they were with our other lost roommate, Kaitlin.

I somehow pried Christine away from her man and the two of us wound up waiting up against this pillar in the bar while Ally quickly ran to the bathroom. I then noticed Christine’s eyes were kind of closing and she appeared to be taking a bit of a nap. The security guards were apparently not big fans of this kind of behavior because they kindly escorted her out of the bar. I obviously followed closely behind.

Once Ally met us outside, we took a cab to the police station, where we were told that the cops had already taken Kaitlin home.

So we grabbed a cab back to our apartment. Everything was going just fine until I felt a few wet drops hit me on both my neck and chest. At first, I assumed it was just rain or something (even though the windows weren’t open. I was full of all sorts of interesting assumptions that night). But then I saw Ally put her hand on Christine’s back as she opened the window.

Between that and the rancid smell, what was really going on was becoming all too clear.

The cab driver was surprisingly pretty cool at first and didn’t seem to mind that there was literally puke all over his backseat. Ally and Christine were also covered in quite a decent amount of it as well. Having just been splattered, I guess I lucked out. But as he finally realized what was going on, the cabbie mumbled something about a “cleaning fee for our troubles” and hiked the meter up to EIGHTY DOLLARS.

We all got out and were making our way down the street towards our apartment when Christine decided to just take her puke-covered dress off in public. She walked into our apartment complex in nothing but a bra and some lacy underwear. Fine, I guess; it was late and no one was awake to see the show. Only when we got to our floor, the elevator doors opened up to who else but two (fairly young, attractive) cops.

“What are you covered in?” They asked, eyes darting back and forth from my nearly-naked roommate to my covered in red-wine puke roommate.

I casually pushed Ally and Christine towards the direction of our apartment (while managing to get my hand covered in puke from Ally’s back) to try to keep us all out of any more trouble. I did my best to ignore my disgust and sweet talk the officers by saying something like, “Oh, you know. We’re fine! Long night. Uh… I’ll take care of them. Thanks for everything! Have a goodnight!”

We finally got into our apartment. There was glass shattered all over the floor leading to my bathroom and very few lights on (we later discovered this was Jane’s drunken doing). I took a peak into my bathroom and found Jane hovering over the toilet bowl while Kaitlin was safely tucked away in bed, courtesy of the fine police.

It was 11:15 p.m.

[You think that's bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]

[Everyone’s got a morning after story and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

Freshman year.  What’s there to say?  You go in with the best of intentions: not losing your scholarships, making the deans list, aiming for the toilet when you puke.

For me, the first few weeks of school went along like perfection.  I had met the one goal I had set for myself, the top tip I read in all the college mags: get to know your professors.  They all knew me by name, even the ones I had for packed seminar classes.  My Sociology professor would go so far as to wave to me on campus.  If that wasn’t an achievement, I don’t know what was.  Plus, he looked just like Maury Povich, which – bonus – I thought was so cool.

Anyway, one evening I find myself in the library being an A+ scholar…sort of.   Picture the scene:  I’ve got a textbook open, my Starbucks in front of me, and I’m just jamming out to my iTunes when The Most Beautiful Guy in The World stands up and leans over the little desk divider.  In an exact quote, he says, “I love that song.”  Expletives abound in my brain as I rip out my ear buds, wondering if these charming blue eyes are really masking his rage at my liberal use of the volume-up button.  In an ultimate loser move, I stare back in silence.  “The Postal Service, right?  Yeah, they’re really good,” he continues.  I’m still staring.  He’s drumming his fingers on my desk in rhythm with the music, which continues to play entirely too loud.  “I’m Will….you are?”  I finally blink, the first time since the start of this whole one-sided exchange, and mumble my name, choking halfway through the second syllable.  “Okay, well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he goes, and then winks (which, for the record, did not come off even mildly cheesy) before sitting down and going back to work.

Cue the sweaty palms and racing heart.  I cannot think about school at a time like this!  Are you insane!?  I shove everything into my bag, take one fleeting glance at the florescent lights glistening off Will’s gorgeously mussed hair, and then run the hell away.

In the sake of space, time, and short attention spans, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the weeks that followed.

The next day I ran into Major Hottie while getting a hot dog (seriously?) in the cafeteria.  This time, somewhat more prepared, I offered him ketchup for his chicken sandwich.  It may or may not have dropped on the floor as I went to slide it to his plate.  Once again, he was painfully calm and collected, asking if I wouldn’t mind sitting with him.  Mind?  Sir, I would sit with you naked in a blizzard (famous last words).   For the better part of two hours, he talked and I laughed louder than a normal person should.  We joked about hot dog eating etiquette and how he crashed his Beemer into the side of his house over the summer (wait, what?).  He told me about how he’s living in this fancy apartment off campus with two other guys who he insisted were a bigger mess than he was.  The whole time, I found it all very charming and agreed to go out with him that weekend.  A first date lead to a second date lead to a third and so on.  By fall break we were…close friends.

It was at that point that he propositioned me.  No, not like that, like this: “Hey, so I’ve been thinking.  Me and the guys were gonna head out for break a few days early.  You know, they don’t even go to class anyway.  Uh, I was wondering- maybe you wanna come?  I’m going to reserve my dad’s plane so you don’t need to worry about getting a ticket or anything.  And I’ve got skis, too.  You can borrow some.  Basically you just have to bring yourself, the rest I’ll take care of.”

His father’s plane?  Skis?  This was all news to me!  Not being the argumentative type, I violently shook my head up and down and promised to be with them when they left for the airport the following morning.

You know how people remember where they were and what they were doing the day Kennedy was shot?  Well, for some reason I remember how blue the sky was the morning I went to meet Will and his band of heathens.  Between struggling with an over-packed duffle bag and shoving through morning sidewalk traffic, somewhere along the way I must have glanced upward.  Because as I look back on this day, the biggest detail I remember was a cloudlessly blue sky.  Beyond that, I think I’ve blocked everything else out so as not to suffer from post traumatic stress disorder.

Somehow they got me in the plane (I’m terrified of flying, a fact I forgot to mention to anyone) and before I knew it we were in the air.  Horror.  I was gripped with the chilling realization that a) I have no idea where this flying death trap is taking me, b) Aaliyah died on a small aircraft that was overloaded with baggage and I know I saw a lot of heavy winter paraphernalia go in the cargo area, c) no one knows of my whereabouts, and d) there is genuine wood paneling in this thing.

For the first time in my life, I drank dark liquor like the man I was not and blacked out until we landed.  Will had to help me down the dumb little plane stairs and into a yellow Hummer (truth) that was going to drive us to our wintery destination.  I think I slept on that ride, too.  It was at dinner that I fully snapped back into action.  They gave me vodka; something that was so familiar and comforting, it almost brought tears to my eyes.  While two of the three stooges flirted with a significantly older woman (whose name was Kitty or Candy or something equally as fitting), Will explained to me that we were at his family’s chalet (his word) and that if there was anything I needed, just “put it on the tab.”

Like any good girl in a bad situation, I finished my drink and just decided to go with things.  Little did I know, that night “things” included getting way drunker than I’ve ever been in my life, rolling in the street as Friend #1 peed next to me, watching Friend #2 smash a car window with a mailbox, helping Will steal a deer head off a hotel wall, and finally breaking into someone’s hot tub while (unbeknownst to us) they were in their living room watching the whole thing.  Snowflakes drifted down as we sat in the bubbly water like a happy, dysfunctional family passing a flask and singing ’80s hits.  I guess the homeowner didn’t want guests, however, because before we knew it red and blue lights came flashing and I began sobbing as a stranger urged me to put my clothes back on.

Sobriety hit me like a two hundred pound beam.  Ohmigod, someone’s putting me in cuffs!  I’m not like this; I’m a good kid!  Next to me Friend #2 resisted arrest and kicked around in the snow.  Will shouted something about wanting to see a man named Jack.  God help me, I just stood there trying not to pee my pants.

Reality sunk in as the booze fully left my blood stream.  They put me in the slammer.  Or shall I say, a posh resort town’s answer to the slammer.  There were tasteful wooden benches and a clock with no hands that had “Doin’ Time” written across the face.  On the bright side, my cuffs were off and I wasn’t behind bars, so I had that going for me.  Plus, there were three adorably rumpled guys sitting to my right with their heads in their hands.

Damnit girl, snap out of it!  How could I think about men at a time like this!?  I mentally slapped myself in the face and began plotting my escape.  Before I could say the word “shiv,” Jack strode in.  Please, if you will, picture an old timey, Western cowboy.  Now put said cowboy in a flannel shirt, really broken-in jeans, and age him twenty years.  This was Sheriff Jack and he was the about to be my best friend.

“Well Will, glad to see you back so soon,” he said through a thick accent I couldn’t place.  What? Was this some sick activity the resort plans for you?  Get drunk, get charged with breaking and entering, and go home with a blemish on your permanent record…thanks for visiting, come again!  Will looked up through bloodshot eyes and asked if Jack was going to make us spend the night like last time.  So…there was a “last time.”  I was getting a crash course in how to date Prince Harry, and if I’m being honest, I stopped liking it around our a capella rendition of “Betty Davis Eyes.”

Jack looked over his clipboard and saw us for the pathetic tourists we were.  “Yeah buddy, you’re here til 8am.  You know the drill.  I’m not gonna book you, but so help me if you move a muscle, I’ll call your father.”

He was right; we were there until I looked out the window in front of me and saw the sun coming up over the mountains.  By that point my hangover had more than set in and I was craving some greasy food and two Advil like whoa.  Jack did me one better by saying we could leave.  Just like that.  Free at last, free at last!  Thank God almighty, we’re free at last!

As long as I live, nothing will compare to the feeling of walking from that little log cabin of a building out into the freezing morning air.  Snow was falling again as I looked Will straight in the eye and said, plainly and directly, “I want to go home.  Now.”

With everything you have to worry about, I bet you never even considered the fact that you might have news laws to abide by. That’s right: laws do differ from state to state and some of them are pretty surprising. So here at CollegeCandy we thought we’d help you out by letting you in on some interesting laws that we have recently discovered. The hard way.

In Alabama, it is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church.

In Blythe, California you are not permitted to wear cowboy boots unless you already own at least two cows. (Leave this trend at home, girls, unless you plan to share your 12X12 box with some livestock.)

In Florida, you may not fart in a public place after 6 PM.

In Maryland, it is a violation of city code to sell chicks or ducklings to a minor within one week of the Easter holiday.

In New Hampshire, you may not tap your feet, nod your head, or in any way keep time to the music in a tavern, restaurant, or café.

In New Jersey, you cannot pump your own gas. (They’re all about the class in Jersey. Perhaps we can have some hors d’oeuvres delivered curbside while we wait?)

In New York, it is against the law to throw a ball at someone’s head for fun.

In North Carolina, while having sex, you must stay in the missionary position and have the shades pulled.

In Tennessee, more than 8 women may not live in the same house as that would constitute a brothel.  (Gives new meaning to “sorority whore,” eh?)

In New Britain, Connecticut the speed limit for fire trucks is 25 M.P.H., even when going to a fire.

In Miami, Florida it is illegal for a man to wear any kind of strapless gown.

In Idaho, boxes of candy given as romantic gifts must weigh more than 50 pounds. (Perhaps we’ll stick to teddy bears on Valentines Day.)

In Portland, Maine it is illegal for men to tickle women under the chin with feather dusters. Which totally ruins my plans of meeting a new college stud and having a little fun with household cleaning tools.

In Oklahoma, people who make “ugly faces” at dogs may be fined and/or jailed.

In Texas, the entire Encyclopedia Britannica is banned because it contains a formula for making beer at home.

Did a text message from Chris Brown’s manager set off the infamous fight?

Oops, someone over at American Idol made a very NSFW mistake.

Moving after graduation? Check out the top ten cities for recent grads.

Lindsay Lohan wants to share her passion for spray tan with the world.

Would you let your guy rock the man leggings?

More Real Housewives drama!

What happens when you mix a probation officer and a talk show?

Look no further, all your questions about the economy have been answered.

Are Zac and Vanessa heading down the aisle?

Looks like Jamie Lynn Spears hasn’t let motherhood slow her down.

Amy Winehouse returns to London. The Caribbean celebrates.

Flirting 2.0

Ms. North Dakota arrested in Iran for buying a bottle of wine.

Thank god there are cute exercise clothes out there.

Jack Osbourne’s mustache make him looks like….

That’s what she said. On Twitter.

Your Facebook status can get you fired.

NYU supports unions...and not companies who don’t.

Maybe Miley should consider more appropriate clothing for a jog with her boyfriend….

You enjoying all that snow, Northeast?!

Sex is….awkward.

What am I going to be using it for? If you’re buying a fake primarily just to buy your friends booze every once in awhile, it’s probably not worth it to go through the whole process of getting one. It would be easier to just find an older friend to buy for you. If you want one to get into concerts, bars, clubs, comedy clubs, etc., with friends who also have fakes or who are older, then it’s more beneficial for you to have one. This way you’re at least getting your money’s worth, and you know for sure you have others who can join you in your illegal adventures.

Who am I buying one off of? Some of my friends have gotten fakes from a random sketchy place down in Chinatown. Even though they only paid 60 bucks for it, the ID says that it’s not government issued and a lot of places haven’t accepted them. Needless to say, they got sh*tty fakes.

It’s better to buy a fake ID off of someone who will show you what his fakes look like and who has some references so you know how the IDs have held up. Even better is someone who will replace your ID if it doesn’t end up scanning or if you don’t like the end result.

Keep in mind, some good fake IDs are pricey. I know of friends who make un-scannable IDs for 80 bucks while certain ID’s that do scan cost between $100-$150.

Am I ready to deal with the consequences if I get caught? This is a HUGE question to ask yourself before buying a fake because you never know what can happen or how your area deals with IDs. My friend was caught with a fake ID in my small hometown and arrested for it while two of my friends caught in NYC just had their’s taken away with a slap on the wrists. Depending on who catches you, there can be major consequences that could seriously eff up the rest of your life. NEVER take buying a fake lightly.

All in all, my friends who have fakes have been happy and understand the risks involved. Mine has held up for more then a year with no problems (knock on wood) — although I am very picky about where I go with it.

Two more details to keep in mind: know what the real state ID of your fake looks like and ALWAYS have your real name on the fake. Using a fake name is identity theft and if caught, your charges will be worse.

If you’re not up to getting a fake, using an older friend’s ID works too. Or…you know, just wait until you’re 21.

Any thoughts or advice on fakes? Would you get one?

We thought it was only appropriate, then, to honor these fallen celebrities. For without them we would never know the repercussions of driving drunk, grabbing the breast of an underage girl, or buying and selling drugs from the back of a limo. These celebrities have taken the fall so we don’t have to. It’s as if they are channeling Jesus and sacrificing themselves for our sins.

Ok, maybe not. But their mugshot pictures are pretty badass.

There is really nothing better than seeing an ultra glamorous superstar looking like a hot mess at the police station. Especially when that superstar is strung out on some really strong sh*t. So, we took it upon ourselves to pull our Top 10 Celebrity Mugshots together for your amusement. Scroll through, enjoy, and practice your voting skills for this year’s election by choosing your favorite to win the 2008 CollegeCandy Mugshot of the Year award. (There is really no prize, award ceremony, or thank-you speech, but we still want to know which hot tranny mess is your favorite.)

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Which mugshot is your personal f-a-v?

Shia LaBeouf, the adorable movie star who used to seem so sweet and cute, apparently made a promise to himself to become just another one of those a**hole actors by breaking a bunch of laws in recent months. Early this morning (Sunday, July 27th), LaBeouf pushed his a**shole act up a notch by flipping his car on “the corner of Fountain and La Brea” in Hollywood and smashing up his hand bad enough to go into surgery shortly after. As soon as he got to the hospital, LaBeouf was arrested and charged with DUI.

Updates will no doubt come in as the day wears on, but as we all wait for those updates to happen, we here at CC are going to make our own promise to ourselves: no more fantasies involving actors who are lame enough to think that driving while intoxicated is a great way to get around.

1) His mother used to be a clown. Legitimately.

2) He may or may not have a short temper (which may be due to the fact that he plays tortured dudes all the time)

3) His sis allegedly asked him for a loan of 100,000 pounds (roughly $200,200), and he said no

4) His mom allegedly insulted his wife, and Bale went all “Oh no you DIDN’T!” on her ass

5) Bale’s family “never wanted to ruin his night” but felt they needed to “teach him a lesson”

Aside from saying what he had for breakfast the day of the blow up, reporters are doing their best to dig through Bale’s past and find some deep, dark poison in his soul or something. Our hypothesis? The guy has a bad temper, has been stressed out for a while, had a giant fight with the fam, and because he’s a celebrity that “row” turned into some kind of Battlestar Galactica implosion in the media.

So yeah, Beautiful Bale isn’t out of our fantasies yet…we just may reconsider challenging him to a rousing game of Battleship…because that sh*t gets heated.

[Update. Christian has made BAIL and may have been arrested for simply yelling really loud at his fam…)

Most people know that I have an obsession over Christian Bale. I mean, I have a thing for few Hollywood actors (a “thing” being an intense belief that the time will come when we will bump into each other in the street and realize we are soulmates), but I really, really love myself some Bale. He’s been hot ever since he was legal, has the cutest accent, is a fantastic actor, and has always seemed pretty normal and unwilling to take sh*t from anyone.

But guess what I just heard on the cab ride into work? Christian may be so used to not taking sh*t, that he didn’t take any from his mom and sister last night in London — and by ‘not taking sh*t’, I mean freaking out at his family in a hotel room.

Reports from all over are flooding in that Christian’s 61 year old mom and 40 year old sister filed a complaint against the actor yesterday, citing that he “lashed out” at them before The Dark Knight premiere across the pond. While it’s still hard to figure out what “lashed out” means, one can guess that he maybe assaulted them…somehow. Reports at 8:30AM this morning say that Bale has been arrested in connection with the complaint.

I wasn’t there, and the info is scarce, so it’s really hard to tell how concerned to be about all this — but to ask the police to arrest your own family member? His mom and sister were either really afraid of him, or really don’t get along with him at all.

The tabloids are calling it “The Batman Curse”, and lumping it in with the death of a crew member last year on the film, as well as the death of Heath Ledger last January. I just call it a damn shame.

Say it ain’t so, Christian, say it ain’t so.