It's the moment of truth, little lady.

We’re well into another new school year and to honor that, we at CollegeCandy are bringing back the fan-favorite series, “We’ve All Been There.”  (We tried to get another national holiday/long weekend for you guys but it’s way harder than we thought so this will have to do.) Every week, Lauren from the University of Michigan will comment on the common experiences all college women share – like class registration, the dreaded muffin top or, everyone’s favorite activity, procrastinating. Read, relate, cringe and enjoy.

Your boxes are unpacked, your bed is made, and your parents have left the building. You are officially a college student.

Woohoo! No more living under their rules. You are a free adult livin’ the dorm life. It takes a few days of getting used to, but you’re finally feeling settled. You’ve even sorta mastered the cafeteria slop. This whole college thing isn’t so hard after all.

That is, until you need to do a little #2 in the public bathroom down the hall. The one every other girl on the hall also frequents to shower, wash up, dry her hair, and do her business. Girls you don’t know. Girls you want to befriend. Feeling the stage fright, you’ve been unable to go for days and, between the cafeteria salad bar (roughage!) and the frat party jungle juice, it’s been rather difficult.

But now it’s time and you have no choice but to suck it up, drop the pants, and take care of business.

The feeling hits you fast. You drop everything you are doing (read: log off of Facebook) and do a little walk/run to the bathroom. You fumble with your keys as you unlock the door, then quickly pull it closed it behind you. You listen for anyone in the shower. You can hear some water running, so you scurry into a stall before anyone can see your face. After safely securing your door, you crouch down to see if any of the other stalls are in use. Thankfully, you are alone.

You turn to the toilet and notice some splash on the seat. You bend down and get in close to determine if it is some inconsiderate squatter’s pee, or maybe a little splash back from the toilet. Regardless of what it is, you are going to have to wipe it up before you let your precious cheeks hit the seat.

You grab a giant handful of toilet paper and wad it up, creating a thick barrier between your hand and the toilet seat. Then, gagging and turning your face away from the situation, you quickly wipe the seat, toss the paper in the toilet and flush it with your foot.

Phew. Now you’re ready.

You sit down and mentally prepare for your first public poop when you hear the door open and a few girls walk in.

“OhMyGod,” you think to yourself. “I can’t go with these girls in here! What if I make loud noises? What if I make the bathroom smell? They may see me or recognize my leopard print slippers! It’s social suicide.” You contemplate sitting silently until they leave, but it seems they are doing the same thing. Besides, after 10 days of zero bowel activity, holding out is really not an option. So you go with plan B: distraction.

You begin coughing, tapping your foot, and rolling and unrolling the toilet paper – anything to cover the sounds of what is happening in stall #3. Though it’s not the ideal sitch (and it’s nearly impossible to do your business and cough at the same time), you do manage to complete your task in a timely fashion without any embarrassing sounds or smells (well, really offensive ones, anyway), and even sneak out of the bathroom before anyone in the neighboring stalls can see your face. Or the sweat marks under your arms.

Yesssss, success!

– Yeah, we’ve all been there and it’s awkward. But if there’s anything we learned it’s that Everybody Poops, so don’t be afraid. By the end of the semester, you’ll be taking magazines, books and even your laptop in there with you and chatting with the girl next door. You may even wonder how you ever did it alone.

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (but most don't involve parental units) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I saw him at my first sorority mixer. He was the social chair of his fraternity and from the moment he checked my name on the guest list, I was in love. He looked dreamy in his designer jeans and flip flops, his hair perfectly floppy. And he knew my name. Well, at least for that moment.

I spent a year cyber-stalking him, convincing my sorority to plan more events with his house and then pussying out whenever I had the opportunity to talk to him. He was older, wiser, and definitely a highly sought after guy campus wide; there was no way he’d ever notice me.

And then, like a gift from heaven, we ended up in a summer term class together.

The class was small, only 30 people. When I walked in the first day (looking like a hot, sweaty mess thanks to my crappy house’s lack of A/C) and spotted him, I could barely contain my excitement. Finally! An excuse to talk to my knight in khaki cargo shorted armor. If only I didn’t have pit stains…

He looked up at me and waved (OMG OMG OMG He recognizes me!). I waved back, then walked to his side of the room and sat down. We ended up talking for most of the class (at least when the professor wasn’t droning on about how “summer term is not some blow off” and listing off all the group assignments we had coming our way), then did so again the next day. And the day after that. He Facebooked me. I Facebook-stalked him. He invited me to a house party he and his “boys” were having. I jumped around my room in my underwear and immediately started planning my cute-but-not-too-over-the-top outfit for class the next day.

Two weeks later, when the first (of many) group projects was assigned, he asked if I wanted to work with him. It took every fiber of my being not to jump up and scream.

That weekend, we decided to meet up at my place to start researching. My roommate had friends from home taking up every inch of common space in our house, so McDreamy and I hunkered down in my room. More specifically, on my bed, as there was really nowhere else to sit. Laptops in hand, we got to work. Then took a two hour break to shoot the sh*t. Then did some more work.

And then, before I knew what the hell was going on, my laptop was on the floor and we were making out like 7th graders in a bar mitzvah coat room.

Things started to heat up so we pushed the textbooks and pens off the bed (after I got stabbed in the leg) and got to it. My shirt came off. His shirt came off. I threw it on the floor, pushed him on the bed and jokingly jumped on top of him.

“Ouch,” he pulled away. “What is digging into my back right now?” He reached behind him to find the painful offender. And when he finally got it, I was mortified.

There, in his hand, was my vibrator.
My small, pink vibrator.

The room got painfully silent. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t form words. The guy I was in love with for over a year, who was finally IN MY BED (topless) and KISSING ME (topless), was now holding a my vibrator and staring blankly at me.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out. I wanted to believe that maybe he thought it was a neck massager. But of course he didn’t. He knew exactly what he was holding in his hand.

After what seemed like 13 hours of silence (but was probably more like 13 seconds), he started laughing. Like, really laughing. So hard that I had to get off of him… then curl up in the fetal position next to him.

All I could think about was how I was going to have to do the entire group project by myself because I couldn’t face him again. Or, worse, have to withdraw from the class and take it again the following semester. Or maybe even transfer schools to the other side of the country.

But it turns out none of that was necessary, because the next thing I knew McDreamy was kissing my back. And four weeks later, despite that little snafu, we were officially dating.

Yeah, it wasn’t my finest moment (and I’m probably not gonna share that story with the grandkids), but at least we got the embarrassing moment thing out of the way early on.

Let’s face it: we’ve all done some questionable things in our lives. Things we think are totally logical in the moment, but make us cringe when we think about them later on. Things that we wouldn’t even tell our best friend, because we can’t handle that look of disapproval that she’s so. damn. good at. Things that even we, ourselves, wish we didn’t know about. But things that our friends, family, and fellow CollegeCandy readers have probably done, too.

Like scoring free drinks from an unsuspecting patron at a bar, perhaps?

So here is our chance to let it all out. To share our secrets and find that maybe we’re not so crazy, so weird, so abnormal, after all. We’ll spill the beans every Tuesday and invite you to share your own similar experiences below. Just think of it as therapy. Or a really hilarious way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.

Confession: Last weekend was my friend’s birthday party – an all-day pub crawl – and I just didn’t want to go. I really dislike her other friends and I wasn’t really in the mood to spend 5 hours with them. So in the morning I called her and pretended to be sick, then sat in bed all day and watched 8 hours of America’s Next Top Model. It was amazing. Then, the next morning, my friend felt so bad that I had to miss her birthday party, she brought me soup and Gatorade.

Got a confession of your own? Get it off your chest here. We can’t offer you salvation or any of that bizness but we can promise not to judge.

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!

Last week, my boyfriend and I found this group of guys who boffer (it’s basically sword fighting role play) so that he could do a documentary about them. I went with because I was bored and figured I could help Matt out. I was expecting a group of stereotypical Dungeons and Dragons nerds; aka fat white boys who have no social lives. Well, we show up and there were, dare I say, really hot guys there!

Since I was just there to be Matt’s assistant, I sat on the porch while he filmed the guys doing their thing. I was just watching until one of the gents came over to the porch to get something. He noticed me just sitting there and kept trying to get me to join them. I kept telling him I’d have no idea what I’d be doing and I’d make a fool of myself, but he kept trying to get me to play along with them. He even offered to let me use the good weapons. (Ooo lala!) There was just no way that I was going to try to sword fight with these guys, so I stayed on the porch. Later this guy decided to keep tapping me on the shoulder from behind with his sword (his actual foam sword for those of you with dirty minds) and would pretend to be minding his own business when I turned around.

I’ve never been one to garner a lot of attention from men, so I naturally was very awkward around this guy. I thought he was just trying to be friendly, but in the car on the way home, Matt informed me that that guy was hitting on me. I was MORTIFIED! It was bad enough that I’m totally oblivious to the fact that I couldn’t tell when a guy was hitting on me, but the fact that my boyfriend had to tell me was the cherry on top. If I would’ve known that he was trying to flirt I would’ve naturally told the guy to back off because I’m taken!

I really didn’t think I’d have to announce to this group of total strangers that I was Matt’s girlfriend. I was fairly certain that the way we act around people, and the fact we showed up together, would signal to all the guys there that I was off the market. Apparently some guys are just too dense to pick up on social cues. All I can think of now is, “What if this happens again?”

What’s a girl to do? Do I flat out reject him to his face and not worry about being rude? Do I be nice and let him down gently hoping my boyfriend doesn’t take it the wrong way?  Do I say nothing at all, let it happen and, in the process, lead him on? It seems like there’s really no “right” way to handle this situation. Either I’m a presumptuous witch who assumes all guys are trying to hit on me, I’m a flirt who loves attention and leads guys on, or I’m somehow cheating on my boyfriend.

I guess for now I’ll just try to make it more obvious to people that I’m taken, but I’m not even sure that’s the right way to go; no one wants to see a kissy/lovey couple getting all PDA in front of them. So what’s a coupled girl to do?

Anyone got any ideas?

I get the picture, embarrassing things happen to the best (and most innocent) of us.

But in a college world where things need to be taken pretty seriously, you have to love and embrace them!  Why else wouldn’t the word ‘embrace’ begin the same way as ‘embarrassing?’ Well, the first three letters anyway.

Really, embarrassing moments are so much more than a shot to your ego, they are an opportunity to laugh at yourself (and others) if the time is right. They bring people together. They show us as we really are at our most vulnerable. And, when you look back, they’re really, really funny.

Getting caught ‘O-faced” singing to ‘One Time’ in your car.

I know it may be embarrassing when stranger Joe rolls up next to you at a stoplight and catches you belting the lyrics “Baby” by Justin Bieber like your love life depends on it. I mean, I may not be 15, or four feet tall, but I do have the pipes to share the empty space in my Ford Escort. And the personal concert I’ve held for myself on the way to class may have just brightened my entire day, whether or not Joe is pointing and laughing at me.

Videos of people falling.

If you are having a bad day, pop up You Tube on your browser and go ape-crazy.  Videos of people falling may turn your cloudy day into a vibrant shining one. And nobody should turn down the opportunity for a giggle-fest study break.

Personal footage of yourself falling.

When I trip and fall, usually, I mean business. I have scars and scrapes to prove it. And a 30-minute laugh session with my girlfriends while eating pie at Bakers Square the next day. I hadn’t laughed that hard telling a story since, well probably last night, but that is because I fall so much. Worth it.

Sharing an embarrassing story with your crush.

Whether or not it is recapping a super embarrassing drunken story, or a tid-bit about your relatives, nobody can get past blabbing absent-mindedly to your crush about something you will probably regret later.  But what you won’t regret later? Knowing that he’s sticking around for the long haul, even when you’re being yourself.

Listening to NSync/Backstreet Boys/Hanson on your downtime.

Whichever you prefer, boy bands are a universal guilty pleasure (at least in my opinion) and something you shouldn’t be ashamed about.  They send you back into adolescent teenage-hood where the answers of the dating universe are”Larger Than Life.” And have you ever been a part of a college-NSync-chorus via dorm room with your friends? Probably one of the best embarrassing things to admit to, ever.

“Beating the beat” on the dance floor.

Shake your bon bon. Raise the roof. Break it down.  Whatever it takes, no matter how embarrassing it may look, or if your favorite dance move is ‘the lawnmower’, it feels nice to let it all out. Have you ever heard the saying “dance to express, not to impress?”

Ordering a water and a lime at the bar.

OK, this may seem practical, cheap, and smart, but in college it is weird, lame, and boring. I suggest you try it sometime. It is embarrassing when the bartender looks at as if you told him you had a bomb but completely un-embarrassing when you aren’t the one hugging the porcelain God later, or telling your crush you love the way his hair looks in his Facebook profile picture.

Buying condoms.

We’ve all seen Teen Mom. Go ahead, visit the Trojan aisle.

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.

God I’m tired. Watching two hours of The Biggest Loser followed by two hours of American Idol can really take a lot out of a girl. Especially when that girl hadn’t even cracked a book before that reality TV sh*tshow began. And when that girl had about 200 pages of reading to get done after that marathon ended.

If the Starbucks guy could feed me that Americano through a vein in my arm, we’d be golden.

But until I find a barista with an affinity to intravenous caffeine use, I am just going to have to find something else to get my brain moving on this not-so-fine Hump Day. Like a fun round of “Would You Rather?” Last week we dreamed of a world of haute couture; this week we’ve got something a bit more cringe-worthy to ponder.

So think long and hard – really, really think about this one, peeps – and choose your answer. Then, if you dare, tell us why you made that difficult choice in the comments section below.

Here goes:

Would you rather have to go to the hospital still “connected” to your guy because you somehow got stuck together OR have to go to the hospital because using a carrot as a pleasure stick wasn’t such a great idea?

Things to consider: the call for help; explaining your situation to the doctors, nurses and your parents; wasting food when there are starving children in Africa.

I’ve become the one that everyone else comes to for advice or when they have an awkward relationship/sex questions.

Case in point: Last week I was at the gym with my friend who is one of the sweetest, most innocent girls you could meet. We were jogging around the track just doin’ our thing when she asked me if she could ask a bit of an embarrassing question. “Of course,” I huffed, not knowing what to expect. Especially knowing what came next.

“What’s giving a blow job like?”

I couldn’t believe one of my best friends, especially her, was asking me such a blunt question! On the track! But I realized that it took a lot for her to ask me that and that she must really value my opinion (considering I’ve never even heard her use that term before!), so I gave her the best description I could and answered all of her related questions. Quietly, of course, there were other people running around us.

Having a serious relationship has turned me into the go-to girl for my friends with relationship questions. They have told me that they know I’ve been through a lot and they value my advice. And I have to admit, giving out relationship advice is kind of fun! I like being the all-knowing sage and helping people who may not be where I am with Matt. It’s my unique way of contributing to the group when they’re all sharing stories and that I can no longer relate to. It makes me feel wanted and connected to a group that I sometimes worry I’m growing apart from.

And it’s not just the girl’s asking, either; my guy friends have been asking me everything from “I have two girls interested in me, what do I do?” to “what should I get my girlfriend for our anniversary?” I’m not saying that I have all the answers when it comes to dating and relationships (far from it), but it seems like having a serious boyfriend makes me the most qualified adviser of the group and everyone’s stopping by my office for a little insight.

And I love it. Yeah, sometimes it’s hard to deal with the fact that I live a very different life than my single friends, but I’m learning that there are some perks to being the mom of the group.  It’s nice knowing that people think you’re doing something right. It’s nice to be trusted. And it’s really nice to be the first person think of when they need a little help.

Your boxes are unpacked, your bed is made, and your parents have left the building. You are officially a college student.

Woohoo! No more living under their rules. You are a free adult livin’ the dorm life.

It takes a few days of getting used to, but you’re finally feeling settled. You’ve even sorta mastered the cafeteria slop. This whole college thing isn’t so hard after all.

That is, until you need to do a little #2 in the public bathroom down the hall. The one every other girl on the hall also frequents to shower, wash up, dry her hair, and do her business. Girls you don’t know. Girls you want to befriend. Feeling the stage fright, you’ve been unable to go for days and, between the cafeteria salad bar (roughage!) and the frat party jungle juice, it’s been rather difficult.

But now it’s time and you have no choice but to suck it up, drop the pants, and take care of business.

The feeling hits you fast. You drop everything you are doing (read: log off of Facebook) and do a little walk/run to the bathroom. You fumble with your keys as you unlock the door, then quickly pull it closed it behind you. You listen for anyone in the shower. You can hear some water running, so you scurry into a stall before anyone can see your face. After safely securing your door, you crouch down to see if any of the other stalls are in use. Thankfully, you are alone.

You turn to the toilet and notice some splash on the seat. You bend down and get in close to determine if it is some inconsiderate squatter’s pee, or maybe a little splash back from the toilet. Regardless of what it is, you are going to have to wipe it up before you let your precious cheeks hit the seat.

You grab a giant handful of toilet paper and wad it up, creating a thick barrier between your hand and the toilet seat. Then, gagging and turning your face away from the situation, you quickly wipe the seat, toss the paper in the toilet and flush it with your foot.

Phew. Now you’re ready.

You sit down and mentally prepare for your first public poop when you hear the door open and a few girls walk in.

“OhMyGod,” you think to yourself. “I can’t go with these girls in here! What if I make loud noises? What if I make the bathroom smell? They may see me or recognize my leopard print slippers! It’s social suicide.”  You contemplate sitting silently until they leave, but it seems they are doing the same thing. Besides, after 10 days of zero bowel activity, holding out is really not an option. So you go with plan B: distraction.

You begin coughing, tapping your foot, and rolling and unrolling the toilet paper – anything to cover the sounds of what is happening in stall #3. Though it’s not the ideal sitch (and it’s nearly impossible to do your business and cough at the same time), you do manage to complete your task in a timely fashion without any embarrassing sounds or smells (well, really offensive ones, anyway), and even sneak out of the bathroom before anyone in the neighboring stalls can see your face. Success.

Yeah, we’ve all been there and it’s awkward. But if there’s anything we learned it’s that Everybody Poops, so don’t be afraid. By the end of the semester, you’ll be taking magazines, books and even your laptop in there with you and chatting with the girl next door. You may even wonder how you ever did it alone.