To most, summer means reuniting with hometown friends, hosting backyard barbecues with beer pong, and traveling around the world with the college budget out of sight. But for me, this past summer meant going home to jobs, internships and the tiny closet I haven’t used since high school. The three months of being at home again would be the longest period of time I would be living under my parents’ roof (and rules, again) since coming to college, which meant three months without going out, partying and/or anything else of college student fun.

It also meant three months without sex. I’m not a nympho, but I do have a functioning vagina. So it was a loooonnng summer.

I had finally cut things off with my on-again-off-again boyfriend just before leaving my college town for the summer. We had our reasons for not trying to work it out anymore, but after a season away from our relationship – or any relationship, for that matter – trying to make it work was beginning to look a bit more attractive than usual…

After three months of family bonding and resumé building, I moved back to school for the extensive period of icebreakers and information sessions known as RA Training. At my school, the RAs share an apartment with a handful of their residents – mostly because there are no one-person apartments solely for the RA. – so this year, I found out I was to live with six of my residents.

A week after meeting my brand new roommates and moving in, I had a moment of physical and mental weakness: I called my ex-boyfriend. He immediately came over. And stayed the night.

The next morning, I was trying to get him out of the apartment without any of my new roommates seeing him – I didn’t want to give off that impression to them as their Resident Advisor, especially only after meeting them a few days ago. I opened my bedroom door and saw the hallways empty, all other doors closed. Coast was clear!

I had him walk in front of me towards the front door, and as we tiptoed and whispered and tried to be as quiet as possible, my ex-boyfriend suddenly said, “Hello, how are you?” to someone standing in the kitchen.

“…I’m fine.” An older man. A father. A very conservative father of one of my roommates. While we were trying to sneak out of the apartment, his daughter was getting ready to spend the day with him – he had just arrived to pick her up.

Obviously, I did not use this golden opportunity to introduce myself as the RA, or mention the fact that this guy was my ex and a one-time occurrence resulting from an uneventful summer at home. Although, I probably should have, because when we came back from breakfast, I found my roommate in tears and her father incredibly upset. For some reason, he had assumed that my ex stayed over with his daughter, who had moved away from home for the first time yet was already running wild the first week (good thing he had no idea about Welcome Week’s traditions!).

So not only did I have to explain to my residents that the boy in question was indeed there for me (and that I broke my own rules 6 days into the school year), but I also had to sit down with some girl’s father and explain to him that I, his daughter’s resident advisor, was responsible for the awkward walk of shame that morning.

That will definitely be the last time this year that I bring a boy back to my apartment!

…if anything, we’ll just stay at his place in the future.

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

One of the best parts of summer is how it changes the dating game, hands down. Instead of having to desperately duck into a random cafe so you two don’t become walking icicles, or having to cut your date short because of that research paper that you should have started, you know, yesterday, you can spend hours at an outdoor fair! Or spend the day playing some fun outdoor sport! Or even take long, leisurely walks on the beach at night.

No, seriously, I’m in Miami and people do that. Delightful, right?

All the benefits of dating in summer are great for another reason: my friends have tons of hilarious stories to tell me! Which got me thinking…

Would You Rather go to the bathroom at the end of an amazing date and realize your nipple had been showing the whole time thanks to your new low cut top OR realize you sent your fantastic date a text, meant for your best friend, describing all the graphic things you wanted to do to him?

Things to Consider: Janet Jackson-style repercussions, how dirty your thoughts get after a few drinks, visible evidence Mr. Date Man can show his friends.

Vote and tell the world why below!

It’s Wednesday and despite the fact that I can’t move any of my extremities without crying (why oh why did I decide to swim laps last night?!), things are looking up. It’s sunny outside, I have a buy-one-get-one coupon for Subway, and The Hills is back on TV.

It’s a happy, happy day.

And now, the icing on this delicious cupcake of a day, it’s time for some Would You Rather…

Would You Rather have uncontrollable, loud gas at your first dinner with your boyfriend’s parents OR find out that your parents snooped and read every text message in your phone?

Things to Consider: the sound of a fart, the smell of a fart, those late night text messages from your booty call.

Vote and tell us why below!

It’s Wednesday so you know what that means: another person has been sent home from The Biggest Loser ranch. And, holy hell, that was some serious drama. What is up with the green team? Why are they so mean? Someone needs to sit them down and force them to watch a Titanic, Notebook and Green Mile marathon until they crack and show some damn emotion. I’m not sure if I hate them or the red team more. Or that nasty brown team from the last couples’ season.

OMG, did I just go on a mega Biggest Loser tangent? Wow. I need help. What I meant to say was that it’s Wednesday which means it’s time for another exciting round of Would You Rather….

So let’s forget about The Biggest Loser for now and think of something a little happier (even if it’s far off in the future for many of us). Give us your vote and share your reasoning in the comments. Happy Hump Day!

Would you rather pee on your guy out of excitement when he proposes OR throw up on him out of excitement when he proposes?

Things to consider: if you ate asparagus for lunch, potential engagement photos, the kiss.

The night started out pretty normally. I enjoyed a cocktail (read: lots of vodka with a splash of soda) while getting ready (read: in the shower), put on some makeup and a cute outfit and headed out for the evening. I was meeting up with a friend, her newly serious boyfriend and his friends for a night on the town. Cute friends. Very cute friends.

I’m not going to say I was expecting to find someone to make out with, but I did wear matching bra and undies just in case. I even shaved my legs.

When I got to the bar, everyone was already seated, so I squeezed in next to one of the boys and settled in for a night of pitchers. Lots of pitchers. Two hours and about 100 games of Quarters later, I felt a hand on my thigh. I looked up and saw Boy smiling at me. I mentally high fived myself for going with the uber low-cut shirt then rested my hand on top of his.

“I WANT FOOOOD,” my friend’s boyfriend slurred announced. Everyone agreed so we got the tab, threw down some money and filed out of the bar. While we stood on the street corner debating where to go (“I’m sick of pizza, what about Jimmy John’s?” “FREAKY FAST, FREAKY GOOD!!”), Boy rubbed my back and played with my hair. I didn’t really need any food (I’d much rather have a little “dessert”), but I figured it might be good for me to get some greasy deliciousness in my belly. If I was going home with this kid, I’d rather not barf in his bed

Finally, we agreed on a destination: the burger house up the street. Sliders, fries, milkshakes – every drunk kid’s dream. My Boy and I parted ways en route so I could get the deets on him from my friend…. and so I could order a giant plate of chili cheese fries with her and not feel self conscious eating them in front of him.

And eat them I did. Every last bite.

Soon my basket was empty and it was time to go. Boy asked me if I wanted to go home with him and, obviously, I said yes. Chili cheese fries and some dessert? Who can say no to that?

Looking back, maybe I should have.

When we got back to his house my stomach started to rumble. The fries were coming back…with a vengeance. I excused myself to go to the bathroom where I had a little gas situation and felt a whole lot better. I returned to the bedroom, turned on the sexiness and enjoyed some of the best dessert I’d had in a long time. Even better, Boy told me after that he was a total cuddle whore and loved to spoon.

I was in heaven. I turned on my side and fell asleep in his lovely, toned arms.

And then, like that, my stomach woke me up.

The pain was intense. Not like “I’m gonna crap my pants” bad, but more like “There is a lot of air in here” bad. I had to think fast. I could get up and go to the bathroom, thus waking up this boy who was snoring so peacefully, or I could just hold in the gas and hope the pain went away. Not wanting to disturb this boy who had worked so hard (three times!) to make me happy, I opted for door #2: I clenched my butt cheeks together and held it all in.

That worked for about 5 minutes until the pain got so intense I had no choice but to release.

And I farted right into the boy’s crotch.

It was sorta silent, but huge nonetheless; a nice, powerful shot of hot air right on his peen.
And then another.

He stopped snoring.
I stopped breathing.
But my butt didn’t.

Another fart came barreling out of my ass and, with that, the boy pulled his arm out from under me and rolled to the other side of the bed.

I was mortified. I couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I spent the rest of the night lying there holding in my farts. I’d already hot boxed his gentitalia, I didn’t want to Dutch Oven the poor kid, too. When the sun came up, I packed up my things and left the house. I never heard from him again.

It was the first party in our new house. Our boxes weren’t even unpacked yet, but our new neighbors (who all happened to be very cute boys) were having people over so we thought we’d join in too. I rifled through my duffle bags to find a low-cut shirt and a pair of jeans to wear, dabbed on a bit of makeup and was ready to mingle with my new friends.

Fast forward 3 hours and I’m drunk and wading in a kiddie pool (that just happened to show up on my porch) with a guy I didn’t know.

“Uh, I’m gonna go downstairs and dry off….” I slurred as I attempted to stand up.

“Want some help?” He responded. Always being the one to have to work for booty, I was excited by how easy he was making this.

“Sure.” I wanted to be demure, mysterious and sexy, which I’m sure I was as I tripped out of the kiddie pool, thus exposing my thong to the entire porch.  Still, he followed me inside and down to my basement lair. My bed was covered in boxes and clothes that I attempted to seductively brush aside. And was unsuccessful. I ended up with a giant paper cut up my arm and 15 broken picture frames that dumped out of a box as it hit the ground.

But I wouldn’t let a little glass stop me. I took that boy, grabbed his face, and dragged him onto the bed. We were makin’ out for a bit and as I turned my head to let him kiss my neck (droooool) I looked out the small window over my bed. It faced the driveway where the party was going down. And it had no drapes. I was a bit nervous and paranoid that everyone could see in, but then I realized that the lights were off in my room, so no one would be able to see a thing.

Things began to heat up and before I knew it my underwear was across the room and this boy was taking me to Happy Town. I was getting really lost in the moment when – BAM – my door swings open, the lights flip on and my roommate and gay best friend walk in.

“And this is Lauren’s roo- OH MY GOD!” My roommate, giving a house tour, stopped. And stared.

“OH MY GOD! GET OUT!” I screamed, placing my left hand over my vajay and my right hand over my right boob. Why that one was more important to cover than the left I’ll never know.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t know you were in here. Joe wanted a tour of our new house and I thought you were outside!”

“STOP EXPLAINING AND GET OUT!”

“Sorry! It’s my fault,” Joe chimed in. He and my roommate both blocked their eyes and began to leave the room. Before he slammed the door, though, Joe screamed, “YOU LOOK REALLY SKINNY!”

When the door slammed, I looked at the boy and we both started to laugh. Awkwardly. I wasn’t really sure what to do – there is no jumping back into things after an interruption like that (no matter how skinny I looked). Especially, as we soon noticed, when the lights are still on and everyone on the driveway is peaking in the window. Pointing. And laughing.

And my left boob is pointing right back.