And sometimes – like after you come home from bombing an exam to find an email from your long distance boyfriend saying he “just can’t do it anymore” and you knock a glass of water onto your brand new MacBook – you need a lot more. But something about chugging Two Buck Chuck straight from the bottle is neither classy nor refined, and having to keep pouring glass after glass just slows down the healing process.

Sounds like to need this (big) guy.

A wine glass big enough to hold a full bottle of Boones Farm Strawberry Fields?

I’ll take two, please.

The week from hell is finally over. Three exams, a paper and a group presentation (though “group” is a loose term since you pretty much did the entire thing) down, now 5 shots and a few hours of dancing to go.

You are exhausted, but also ready to grab a bottle of Boones Farm and get this party started. You head home, load up on the carbs and get ready for a night of post-hell celebration with the girls.

Being that you spent every waking moment (and there were a lot of them) of the last week in sweats, you want to doll it up for tonight: tight jeans, low-cut cami and the highest of heels that you’ve got. You don’t say this often, but you look good. Really good.

You head to the kitchen where you “eyeball” a shot – or 2 – into a glass, fill it with your mixer of choice and mix it all together with whatever is closest: a knife, your finger…. Pretty soon the rest of your friends are ready to go and you head off into the night.

As soon as you get near the bar and see the super long line, you realize you weren’t the only one lookin’ for a little release that night. It’s fine, though; when it comes to getting your groove on, the more the merrier.

You spot some handsome lads waiting to get in and decide to use the time it takes to get to your place in the line to work it a little. You throw your shoulders back, stick your chest out and engage in a hilarious conversation with your friends (to show off that adorable smile) as you make your way to the end of the line.  All is going well until, BAM, your heel gets stuck in a crack in the cement and you are literally stuck in place.

You try to wiggle the heel out quickly before anyone notices, but it’s really jammed in there. Your friends, now realizing that you are no longer with them, turn around and notice you struggling. Instead of coming to your aid, though, they just point and laugh. You continue to pull, strain and shimmy your way out of the precarious situation, but the shoe just won’t budge.

Soon the entire line notices you, which isn’t hard seeing as you have now removed your shoe and are on the ground prying it out. You finally yank it out (the force nearly tossing you to the ground), put the shoe back on and try with all your might to regain your composure (and wipe the sweat off your brow) as you continue to walk past all the laughing line-dwellers.

And while the whole sex appeal thing has gone out the window, the situation isn’t all bad. It seems that everyone inside recognizes you, leading to plenty of free pity shots.

Yeah, we’ve all been there, honey. This is why God invented flats.

Just in case you forgot, tonight is the end to yet another glorious season of The Hills. But don’t shed a tear, because The City, Whitney Port’s new show in NYC, is starting up next week! Thank you, MTV, for giving me a continuous dose of really bad (fake) reality TV. Love you!

Anyways, tonight is more than just another episode. There is a possible Heidi/Lauren reunion! And a party! And interviews! And a performance by The Pussycat Dolls!

Oh yeah, it’s gonna be huge.

And CollegeCandy is gonna be there. Yeah, we are sneaking in a fabulous CC writer to check out the entire scene and report back tomorrow morning on the clothes, the silicone, and the flesh colored beard. So, kick your parents out of the living room, pop open a bottle of Cristal Boones Farm and watch The Hills with us tonight.

“Historically there have only been two deaths worldwide attributed to cannabis, whereas alcohol and tobacco together are responsible for an estimated 150,000 deaths per annum in the UK alone.”

In fact, the only thing that makes pot a dangerous drug stems (haha, stems) from the fact that it isn’t legal: the crime that surrounds it, all that crazy sh*t people are lacing it with these days, etc. By making pot legal, people would be able to regulate it and keep it safe.

Not to mention stimulate the economy and create more jobs: people to grow it, people to sell it, people to regulate it, people to supply all the stoned kids with enough Cheez Its and Twinkies to get through the day…

Seriously, marijuana could keep this country from a depression! (And if it doesn’t, it could make the depression more bearable…or hilarious!)

Down with that dangerous alcohol!

Bring on the cannabis!

Upon arriving on campus we immediately headed to lunch where we began our meal with a Bloody Mary and some Mojitos. It was at that moment that I realized our leisurely Saturday afternoon was going to be anything but.

The combination of the rum pumping through my veins and my excitement at being back on campus got me feeling all nostalgic. I missed campus, I missed my friends, and, most of all, I missed getting completely sh*tcanned before a football game.

So we followed our hearts and decided to do it up college style.

I chugged Franzia with some frat boys (“BABIES! You can’t chug for your life!”), downed Boones Farm with my friends – and that was before we even left the lawn. I had a 40 on my way to the game, which I shared with some random band playing on a porch that belonged to people I did not know. And I sang bad 80’s songs into the mic.

I heckled people on my way to the game, took a swig from some random kid’s flask and stole a hot dog from the stand right outside of the stadium. We eventually made it to the game and as I sat in the hot sun watching my team lose (which wasn’t painful enough already), I patiently awaited the hangover from hell.

But the hangover never came! So, naturally, my friend and I decided to keep going. We stopped for some much needed pizza and nachos, picked up some more Boones and headed out for round 2 (in our sweaty game day clothes).

I drank more college kids under the table (a fact I am quite proud of) and even busted out my killer dance moves. I was feeling great. “I STILL GOT IT!” I screamed to anyone who would listen.

But now it is Monday. And I can’t get out of bed. In fact, I have only gotten up twice since returning from my College Day in Ann Arbor and that was to puke and to hydrate. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. My liver hurts.

Staring at the ceiling while a little man in my head hammers away on my skull I have come to a realization: I don’t still got “it,” unless “it” is a massive hangover.

I may be good at some things, but drinking like a college kid is not one of them. I tip my hat to you, college ladies. Enjoy your last night of Welcome Week and be sure to drink some boxed wine for me. I’ll be here watching 90210 reruns on Soap Net and willing myself out of bed.

I watch the Olympics every night in awe. Here I am sitting on my couch – MacBook on my lap, ice cream sandwich in my hand – as the world’s best athletes compete.

These are people who have sacrificed so much and worked so hard to be the best in their sport. These are people who have given everything they have (and then some) to get to this point in their athletic careers. These truly are the best of the best on the planet.

It is really something to think about.

And then there is Michael Phelps who is not only the best guy in the pool this year, but ever. Ever in history. 8 gold medals in a single Olympics. Pretty freaking amazing.

It was actually watching Phelps win his 8th medal that got me thinking about all of this. Yeah, watching a 48 year old woman win the Olympic marathon was pretty sweet, but Phelps really hit home for me. After all, he trained at Michigan; we walked the same streets, ate at the same restaurants and, if I ever even knew where it was, could have swam in the same pool.

I rarely saw Phelps on campus, mostly because he was always training.

And I was not.

In fact, While Michael Phelps was training to be an Olympic God and win 8 Gold Medals I Was:

- Laying in my living room watching Law and Order SVU marathons with my roommates

- Drinking Boones Farm Strawberry Hill on my porch

- Planning elaborate parties that included A Groundhog’s Day fiesta, a Jell-O wrestling tournament, and back to back Beerlympics.

- Sneaking Jimmy Johns into the reading room at the library where I spent hours IMing my friends about the douche bags who walked in

- Shopping with my parents’ credit cards

- Figuring out ways to “bump into” the boy from last weekend

- Making power hour CD’s

- Baking brownies, smoking pot and then eating those brownies…and everything else in the kitchen

- Constructing ridiculous costumes to wear to the bar (and not for Halloween)

- Watching Peanut Butter Jelly Time on my laptop and dancing around my room

I am not saying that I regret any of those activities or decisions (well, maybe the whole pot and brownie thing…), but I do now realize just how great I could have been if I had applied myself to something besides drinking, eating and trying to get a guy to hump me.

Because besides the Gold Yogurt Cap I earned for Survivor Flip Cup in the Walnut Street Beerlympics of 2005, no one awards medals for the activities I devoted my life to.

Worry no more, friends.

The Hills and all of its blonde drama is back!

And you don’t even have to watch alone!

CollegeCandy will be liveblogging the entire episode from the comfort of our very comfy couch with a bottle of Boones Farm and a box of Oreo’s. We will even be online (CollegeCandy 27 on AIM), so we can bitch about Heidi’s boobs and Lauren’s ‘tude together!

Sounds like the perfect evening to me.

So join us tonight. 10PM. MTV. And come back tomorrow morning for the usual recap.

And just in case you needed a little refresher, here is a look back at the happenings of the L.A. ladies the last time we watched. Ugh – I hope LC nixed that weird braid thing. Maybe then she’d find some true love.

This morning while slightly (and by slightly I mean, shoot-me-in-the-face) bored at work, I illegally signed into my AIM.

(Tip to all you working ladies out there: www.meebo.com is a wonderful site where you can log onto AIM and your bosses will never know. Mwahahaha)

Anyhoo, an equally sly and bored friend of mine was clearly also looking for some entertainment so we started chatting.

And at 10:14 AM on October 17, 2007 I had my first New Year’s 2008 query.

Yes, I think this is my new record. Usually New Year’s discussions don’t start until at least after Halloween, but post-college/big city life calls for a whole new set of rules.

And I’ll be honest; all talk of New Year’s has me nervous. Not because I need some big midnight kiss. Or because I am afraid I won’t have anyone to celebrate with. I am nervous because the last time I drank I had 2 beers and I passed out at 11.

Needless to say, I am really not in tip-top partying shape. While all my still-in-college friends rip shots and speak of late night parties, I have spent the past few weekends sipping tea and catching up on my Oprah.

If New Year’s discussions are already starting, that means I really need to trade in my Hot Tea for Long Island Iced Tea and start training for the festivities!

I need to build my tolerance. I need to build my stamina. I need to reunite myself with the burning in the back of my throat from numerous tequila shots and the general feeling of complete satisfaction from late night breadsticks.

I am going to approach New Year’s Training like I do my daily workouts; with hard work and a continuous focus on the goal.

And my regimen is gonna look a little something like this:

40’s on Saturday mornings

Boones Farm Strawberry Fields while getting ready to go out on Saturday nights.

Actually going out on Saturday nights.

No passing out before 3 AM on weekends.

Must drink at least 3 days per week. No more than 7.

No leaving a bar without taking at least one shot, preferably of tequila or whiskey.

It is going to be rough, but my old trainer always used to say, “No pain, no gain!” (as I crawled out of the gym after an hour long hell-session). I am ready for this challenge; I must work hard if I don’t want to spend the first moments of 2008 hugging the bowl in some public bathroom or passed out on some city street (after 3 beers).

I am determined. I will bring in 2008 in style. And on my feet.