One weekend, I went to a mixer at one of the best frats at my school. They had a huge party coming up and the only way to avoid waiting on long lines is knowing a brother very well, if you know what I mean.

Four (…or five or six) drinks later, I found myself chatting with a slightly creepy and indisputably not-cute guy who claimed to be roommates with one of the coolest, hottest members his pledge class. I figured he was my “in,” my protection from shivering in a line for two hours while my buzz drifted slowly away. So I turned on the charm, laughed at his jokes, touched his arm.

Yet even in my state of inebriation, my creep-dar started bleeping. Something was off about this kid and I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  I decided to ask him some questions to verify his so-called brotherhood.  Our conversation: Read More »

When it came to house parties, my roommates and I pulled out all the stops. We wanted our soirees to stand out and be memorable so we always chose a theme. We threw a bat mitzvah party (homemade t-shirts and some chair lifts and all) for my non Jewish roommate’s 19th birthday. We had a costume parties. We had a Jell-o wrestling tournament. And when winter set in, we asked everyone to pull out their finest dresses and ties and come over for a cocktail party.

It was a classy affair with brie, wine and champagne.  Everyone looked fabulous as we mingled to the sounds of Frank Sinatra playing from my laptop.

As with most college parties, our friends brought their friends – people we didn’t know – but we welcomed them with open arms and strong vodka cocktails. Read More »

Sophomore year I had gone through a bad breakup, things weren’t going so well with my roommate and my grades were plummeting. Long days running my frustration out at the gym and longer nights of drowning my sorrows in alcohol were really wearing down my system. I knew a breakdown was looming, but there was no predicting when or where it was going to happen.

Which was quite unfortunate for me.

I began to hang out with a freshman that I had known from my hometown. He was a good friend and I felt really comfortable with him. One weekend night, we had gone out to a party together and gone back to my dorm room after. My roommate was asleep in her bed and things between us were less than stellar, so me and the boy had to find another place suitable for… Well, you know. Read More »

We all come into college fearing that we won’t make a single friend our freshman year. So I patted myself on the back when I found a group of girlfriends that I fit in with right away. But I realized that these were new friends and could change their mind about me at any minute with no remorse, so I was always sure to be on my best behavior.

One night, we had all gone to dinner at our on-campus bar and restaurant. We were with a few older guys and they were sneaking us beer after beer, and it wasn’t long before I realized that I was three sheets (and 6 beers) to the wind. Doing my best to hold my ground and act like I wasn’t starting to feel that buffalo chicken sandwich churning in my stomach, my friends were surprised when I asked them to accompany me to the bathroom with a look of urgency in my eyes.

Three of us gathered around the tiny stall as I proceeded to barf up my entire meal and then some. They followed the standard friend protocol, holding my hair back and rubbing my back. Little did they know what they were about to witness. Read More »

It was a normal night of drunken debauchery, probably escalated a little bit due to my freshman girl status. My friend Tess and I had gone on Spring Break with a few senior guys, and we had since attached ourselves to them, thinking we were way too cool to hang out with boys our own age.

Definitely trying to impress the older crowd, we had taken a few too many shots and were hanging outside with the smokers.  Our friend Scott standing with his arms around both of us – me on the left, and Tess on the right, cigarette in her hand. Scott brought us in for a dual hug and the next thing I knew, the cigarette landed squarely in the middle of my forehead.

Did it burn? I have no idea. Did I cry about the hole in my forehead? Probably, but still, I have no idea. All I know is the next morning I woke up face down in my bed, with Tess sleeping at the foot of the bed like a dog.

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It was a couple days after Christmas and my sister and I were at my parents’ cherished retirement pad in Florida. I was hungover and menstruating, so basically my mouth and vagina tasted like cat piss and pennies. We decided mimosas were in order… until I had a sip, remembered single handedly slamming a bottle of bubbly the night before and replaced the champagne with vodka. My mother came home two hours later, and was not happy that A. I had broken into her emergency alcohol supply (this actually exists) and B. that we had decided to get drunk before noon rather than returning/exchanging Christmas presents for her like we said we would three days in a row now.

The two man party kept going until 7 p.m., eight hours later, and somehow we convinced our dad to drive us to a local bar to watch a highly anticipated NFL game. In exchange, we would let him have our McFlurries that were in the freezer. (Also, true.)

The first thing I did when I walked into the bar was buy a waitress’ entire tray of Jell-O shots. The following things also happened at the bar that night: My sister, 21, made out with a 60 year old bartender for a free bag of Jay’s potato chips, I face planted in front of a young family having dinner and the mother says to her daughter “do not talk to that woman”, and as my father pulls in to pick us up I have my pants around my ankles (definitely on the rag), pissing in the parking lot terrace and using the hands of two old geezers to balance myself. (Apparently I had called my dad to tell him he couldn’t eat my McFlurry afterall and spoke like “someone had stapled my tongue to my chin” therefore, he felt compelled to come get us. A**hole.). Meanwhile, my sister is sitting Indian style in a handicap parking spot across from a child who couldn’t be older than twelve, ripping menthol cigarettes and telling him about the Christmas presents she got. Read More »

My sorority family is insane and I love them. But I have never made it home from a family dinner alive… or with my dignity. Our propensity for tequila has always gotten the best of me. At our last family dinner, they found me exchanging clothes with a frat guy and then laughing and pointing as another family member rolled down an extremely steep hill.

So, needless to say, they decided to send me home with an escort that evening so as to avoid the morning after “OMFG YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I DID AFTER I LEFT LAST NIGHT!” phone call.

Well, escort in tow, things were going well on the walk back to my dorm room (I mean, my clothes were still on and I hadn’t tripped in front of oncoming traffic), until I happened upon a young man walking by himself. As the story goes (because I certainly don’t remember this), I latched onto his arm and made delightful conversation all the way home. My escort walked me all the way up to the door, waited as the strange suitor walked away, and then left me to go back to her own dorm.

Little did she know this man and I had other arrangements. Read More »

Sick of going out (literally, we’d all spent the day in bed with trash cans nearby), my roommates and I decided to have a Saturday night in.  We ordered a late night dinner of greasy Chinese food and gathered around the table – some of us on chairs, some of us on empty kegs, because most of our chairs were broken at our last house party – to load up on MSG and girl time.

The boys who lived next door had been giving us crap all day for skipping out on a “quality party night,” but we didn’t care. The only thing we were gonna be drinking that night was some hot and tasty egg drop soup.

While unpacking the 4 bags of food, I looked out the window and waved to the neighbors doing beer bongs in their kitchen. We were separated by only a driveway, so we could see and hear everything going on in eachothers’ houses. (Which, by the way, we learned the hard way when we were going on and on… and on about how hot they were…and they heard the entire thing.) Read More »

I have been in a relationship for an undisclosed amount of years. It began way before college and I am entering my senior year, so you do the math. The point is: my sloppy nights have never resulted in a stranger’s face in my bed the next morning. Lucky? Probably. Boring? Maybe to some people. Safe? Most def.

I have never dealt with a disease scare or the overall fright that comes with waking up in an unfamiliar location with someone you never remember meeting. That’s not to say that I haven’t had my share of embarrassing moments. Or mornings when I looked in the mirror and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Only a recent graduate of the underage club, the majority of my nights out have consisted of shimmying up my skirt to woo a bouncer, or settling for a dive bar in the middle of nowhere. On this particular night, I believe it was a Tuesday – a night when I shouldn’t have been out in the first place since I had class the next morning -  the former had not worked out and so we ended up at the latter, which in this case was a very tiny, very sketchy, Mexican food place on the Lower East Side. Read More »

During my first few years of college, I spent my summers working at a resort.  It was good administrative experience and the night life was amazing.  Also, because I was well under 21, it helped that most of the bars didn’t card (and the bartenders were amenable to some flirtation and tipping in lieu of my ID).  My days were spent hanging out in an air conditioned office while my friends and coworkers slaved away in ridiculously hot restaurants and golf courses.  My nights were spent at aforementioned bars (and anywhere else there was alcohol).

It just so happened that my second summer of resort work commenced shortly before my 19th birthday.  This meant a weekend of awesomeness (especially because the tourist season hadn’t really started yet and we were all bored and ready to party).  My birthday started nicely enough, with trips to the ice cream store and a picnic on the beach with my friends.  Later that night we spruced up and headed out to the bar with my favorite bartender, where we all agreed we would be celebrating my 22nd birthday (we picked my 22nd because the summer before I was drinking in the bars and was considered at least 21…obvs). Read More »