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It’s finals week and snowing here in the Midwest; what a lovely combination. I can’t think of a better way to take a study break than to snuggle up by the fireplace with a few pledge sisters and talk about our upcoming winter formal… the reason why I return to school second semester every year… the highlight of January!

Woof.
Who am I kidding? Faking it is not something I’m great at so I won’t even try.

Winter break is days away and that means literally only one thing for a sorority girl (OK, besides presents): winter freaking formal. It’s what every sorority girl looks forward to, right? What she spends her winter break thinking about and shopping for. The sorority event. The night that every potential new member dreams about and counts down to. The stuff sorority life is made of.

I guess.
I’m not going to candy-coat it: I kind of hate this time of year, and since we’re supposed to be getting in the spirit of the Christmas, I guess you could call me the Grinch of Holiday Formals. Ugh.

It seems like every year I am riding the struggle bus to find a date to these things… and for what? To buy a $100 dress that I will wear for 3 hours tops, ruin as I spill a drink on it in the midst of avoiding awkward conversation with my blind date, and make wonderful memories that I will only remember thanks to my camera? Chaos.

But that’s not even the worst, most stressful part of all. That award goes to the semi-forced conversation between you and the house social chair.

“Sooo, have you found a date yet?” She asks, half excited to hear your answer and half excited to hear of your failure.
“Ohhh, no, I just can’t choose. So many options!” This is sorority girl in distress code for, “I haven’t asked anyone because I have ZERO prospects.” If you’re lucky, your guy friend from orientation (for whom you have NO romantic inklings, just a mutual love of drinking and dancing) will go with you. If you’re not so lucky, an older sister in the house sets you up with “the cutest guy ever!” and you spend your night forcing conversation while the rest of your house gets it on in dark corners around the venue. I’ve been there (see exact scenario above), and it will never happen again. Which means I still need to find someone to go with. Sigh.

And then there’s always the sorority girlss unrealistic expectations about their dates. Unless he has been your diehard boyfriend for plus or minus a year, don’t expect to be impressed. A formal is just another excuse for a guy to drink, like any other night of the year, only this time he’s wearing a tie. Sure, every so often a guy will come along and sweep you off your feet, but 9 times out of 10, that does not involve some grand romantic gesture but rather some drunken dance moves that land you both on your asses on the dance floor. These guys are not Prince Charming; they’re frat boys! And no he’s not (cringe) “the one.” I’m disappointed if you even pondered that thought.

So, what? Formals are a waste of time and money? We should all skip them, save the $100 and bottle of vodka we were gonna smuggle on the bus and just stay home? Hell to the no.

Yes, formal season can be stressful but it can also be a great time, the best night of the year, the kind of night that sorority life is made of. You just gotta know what to expect and roll with the punches (even if those punches may or may not include rubbing your date’s back while he pukes over the side of a river boat. Don’t ask.). My suggestions: take a friend to these formals and have fun. Don’t worry about impressing some guy you barely know (or have never previously met….) Make memories with your sisters because those memories are the ones you will want to replay in 10 years… not a sloppy make out with what’s-his-face. Then, when the night is over, post the pics on Facebook immediately so you can re-live the glory with the girls over (a very late and very hungover) breakfast the next morning afternoon.

What is the scene like at YOUR sorority before a formal? Have YOU taken a blind date to a date-function?

Get more Greek Life goodness right here.

Admit it – even if you are in a sorority, you’ve wondered if Greek TV shows are anything like real Greek life. But first off, it goes without saying that whether you are Greek or not, if you have never seen an episode of “GREEK” then you haven’t lived. If for some reason you are living under a rock and have yet to indulge in this amazing show, stop reading immediately, go watch a few episodes online, then come back and read!  (P.S. Don’t tell your friends you’ve never seen “GREEK”; they’ll shun you.)

Moving on.

After every episode I find myself more and more emotionally attached to the characters. (Let’s face it, I want to be Casey Cartwright and live happily ever after with Evan Chambers.) I think the reason why myself and thousands of other sorority girls are addicted to “GREEK” is partially because it is so true. From the parties, to frat boy break-ups, to in-house sorority drama, the show covers it all. We all love the show because it is relatable and probably the most realistic portrayal of sorority life in the media. Unlike Legally Blonde or Sorority Boys, the issues going on with Ashleigh and Casey in ZBZ are ones that we as sorority girls face every day. And it’s fun watching someone else deal with it.

In fact, the show is so spot on that on long breaks away from my sorority, watching “GREEK” has definitely become my home away from home.

BUT let’s not get too excited. Being a member of my school’s Panhellenic board, I have to put my two cents in on this. Sometimes I finish an episode of the show feeling a bit… disappointed. Being in a sorority isn’t nearly as exaggerated as what Greek TV shows make it appear to be. We don’t party 24/7, our housing facilities are definitely not as amazing as those sets, and sorority girls don’t kiss and make up on a daily basis. Hell, most of us don’t fight on a daily basis. Plus, any fraternity house that partied as much as the Omega Chi’s from “GREEK” (or the Animal House guys) would never be tolerated, and the fact that Rebecca Logan got her own single room in the house as a freshman is beyond ridiculous.

But that’s TV entertainment for you. If sorority and fraternity life were portrayed true-to-form on TV, no one would watch. Because a lot of it would be pretty boring. And normal. (Editor’s Note: Which is probably why MTV’s ‘Sorority Life’ and ‘Fraternity Life’ went off the air 9 years ago.) And it would also break down the party girl/drunk boy stereotypes that TV and movies have been setting up for years, and who would want that?

Are shows like GREEK based in reality? Absolutely, but just like The Hills (and Heidi Montag’s boobs), much of the drama is very much exaggerated, while other elements are completely left out. And for the most part, this isn’t a problem. It is entertainment after all. When I’m forced to defend myself, my friends and my sisters across the country when people believe everything they see on TV, though, well, that’s just annoying.

What do you think TV shows are getting right about Greek life, and what are they doing oh so wrong?

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Your cell phone alarm is going off in your ear to the tune off She Bangs by Ricky Martin, inducing the hangover you worked so hard for last night (note to self: change to something MJ immediately). Your body pillow is the most obliging (and loyal) bed partner you’ve had in months, and the monsoon outside is actually starting to lull you back to sleep. So what’s going to keep you from repeatedly hitting the snooze button and subsequently infuriating your roommates and failing out of school?

The oh so delicious piece of man meat awaiting you at that 9 am roll call.

Now, there’s not going to be a prince charming lurking behind every door, but we came up with a class schedule that is sure to make the grade.

The Dude: Frat Boy
The Class: Bio 150 – Introduction To Geology, aka “Rocks for Jocks”

An introduction to the physical processes operating on the earth and the history of the earth.  This course will introduce topics including the formation and physical properties of rocks and minerals, plate tectonics, geologic time, weathering and erosion, and global climate change.

Now, if you’re looking for some denser material (other than the barrel chested buffoons surrounding you, oh and the, um, rocks) this is not where you want to start your hoghunt. However, if you’re just looking for a good time (think Animal House meets Van Wilder) and a tenacious, albeit, physically destructive flip cup partner, this is where you will find your Manweiser. King of Beers anyone?

The Dude: Wallstreet
The Class: Fnce 911 – Financial Economics

The objective of this course is to undertake a rigorous study of the theoretical foundations of modern financial economics. The course will cover the central themes of modern finance including individual investment decisions under uncertainty, mean variance theory, capital market equilibrium, arbitrage pricing theory, option pricing, and the potential application of these themes.

For all of you gold-diggers who get off on a stiff one in a power suit (and by gold-diggers I mean savvy bitches, and by savvy bitches I mean f**king geniuses), strut your assets into an upper-level business class and invest in a certified money market badass. (Ya, ya, we’re in a recession… so was John Rockefeller at one point.) Just take a seat next to most dapper dude you can find, stroke his flaccid ego, and ask him if he still has the balls to pop your…collar. Yeah, I said it.

The Dude: The Cultured Connoisseur
The Class: Intl 160 – Comparative Development

An exploration of the economic, political, and social changes that constitute development. Both the historical experience of Europe and the contemporary Third World are considered.

Attention sophistikids: Thirsty Thursday rolls around, and you would rather indulge in a full-bodied red (or blonde or brunette) than sling back buttery nipple shots with marginally articulate acquaintances. Well bring your passport and permission slip to class, young lady, because there awaits your cosmopolitan travel mate. He will woo you with stories of international adventure and serenade you under the stars in three romance languages all while planning what culinary delicacy to tantalize your senses with next. Welcome to School Year Abroad – Paradise, my friend. Pack your sunglasses, ‘cause the future’s bright.

The Dude: The Not So Struggling Artist
The Class: Art 203 Figure Drawing

Figure Drawing focuses on drawing issues related to working from the nude model while emphasizing proportion, foreshortening, and planar structures of the figure. Students will work from very short poses to extended poses. Students aim to develop sensitivity to the structure, anatomy and expressive qualities of the human form.

Calling all exhibitionists, Kama Sutra goddesses, ­­Venus de Milo look-alikes and/or any single chick with an hour of down time and healthy dose of self possession: Pose Nude And Get the Dude! Get Naked And Bring Home the Bacon!  Ok, so maybe this is a little forward/overzealous, some might even say tacky (if not for art’s sake), but I dare you to think of a sexier “how we met” story. “Well your father truly had an artist’s vision, and I used to take my clothes off for beer money.”

Scratch that. What you could do, however, is take the more subtle (and sanitary) approach and join him in the observation wing. Indulge in discourse about the beauty of the female form (finally, a guy who knows that real boobs shouldn’t double as a chin rest), marvel at his attention to detail down to the very last freckle, and slowly but surely secure yourself as this Boticelli’s next muse. (For those of you with less time and a shorter attention span, partner up for that full frontal homework assignment and find out just how deeply this guy’s creative juices run.)

The Dude: The Social Martyr
The Class: Soc 150 – Economic Development and Social Change

Emphasis on understanding the interrelations among economic, political, and cultural aspects of change in developing countries. The experience of currently developing nations is contrasted to that of nations which industrialized in the 19th century. Compares the different development strategies which have been adopted by currently developing nations and their consequences for social change.

You know your classmate in middle school who used to personally escort insects outside to spare them the judgment of your sneaker? Who befriended the new kid in town when no one else would? And who brought in his family’s entire pantry stock for the canned food drive? Well if his charitable ways made you blush back then, this is where you can find him now, and this time he’s the one who will be red in the face (over the injustices of the American education system, that is). He will melt your heart with his crusade to empower the impoverished, and bring tears to your eyes with his commitment to the Clean Water Act. But make sure you come to class prepared to discuss your most impassioned causes, missy, because he will ask, and he will care. Oh, and you might want to make a list of the preferred locations for your first Peace Corps assignment, keeping in mind that these should not overlap with your spring break destinations. Remember, the dirtier, the better. Wink.

[This post was originally posted by Lexi C. - Brown]

[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.

Giving up my nights out was not something I was especially prepared to do when I started scouring my college town for a job; who wants to be folding clothes amidst an asthma-inducing Abercrombie cologne cloud late into the evening when your girls are out at $1 pitcher night? Nobody.

That’s why I became a cocktail waitress.

Well, that and I heard Tiger Woods George Clooney was fond of them.

Naturally, I see a lot of…er… interesting, for lack of a better word, things during the late night shifts. Things that I know I’ve been guilty of doing, and that all you CC ladies are probably guilty of as well. Believe me, your signature twist+bend and snap combo dance moves do not look as sexy as you think, even if that drunk frat boy tells you they are. And as good as Journey is, “Don’t Stop Believing” is not “the best song of all effing time!!”

Because our thoughts tend to be a little muddled when we’re a few sheets to the stale bar air wind, I thought I’d help everyone see just what a typical drunken night is from a more honest (read: sober) perspective. So join me as we analyze things (hey, we’re all friends here!) from both sides of the crowded bar.

Your Point of View: It’s 11:00pm and you and your friends raced into the bar in 5 inch heels because it’s winter in the Midwest and coats are a pain in the buttcheeks to carry around. The warm air inside brings out a sigh of the relief.

My Point of View: GIRL you must be KIDDING. IT’S WINTER IN THE MIDWEST! Except I’ll tell you that I never wear coats out either and no, your nose isn’t running that bad! Oh, and that happy sigh you made when feeling came back to your fingers sounded more like a cross between the sound I make when I see spider (EEEE!) and when I see a hot Mexican with a beard (ughhh YES).

Your POV: Shots! Shots! Shots! Shotshotshots! I LOVE shots and I LOVE this song!

My POV: I would literally be a millionaire if I got a dollar every time someone ordered shots from me in that manner. A billionaire if I got an additional dollar every time people sang that just to get my attention and then order something completely different.

Your POV: Cutie alert at  ‘clock! Take a quick selfie to see if you’re still looking as hot as you were when you left.

My POV: Much like how a car loses value when you drive it off the lot, all of the effort you put into looking good starts to depreciate when you walk in the bar. There’s no way around it. It’s going to be hot, you’re going to sweat, your perfect hair poof is going to fall flat (unless you’re Snooki, of course), and drinks are going to fall on you. Let’s just all take a second and give thanks to the very forgiving bar lighting.

Your POV: Yes, 4 0′clock cutie noticed you. He walks over, says he remembers you from class, and buys you a drink. Things are going great, so great that you invite him on the dance floor. And if his moves are good (and he buys you a few more rum and diets), maybe you’ll invite him back to your apartment.

My POV: First off, he does not remember you from class. He just chose a random gen ed, like Elementary Psych, because it has 500+ people in the lecture and there was a good chance you took it too. Second, his moves are def not good, but in the back of your head you knew it didn’t matter anyway. Third, men aren’t always good to you, but burritos always are. If he won’t offer to pay for your drunchies after all those drinks he handed out, don’t take him anywhere near your abode.

Your POV: Bartender yells “Last call!” and you get a huge group hug going to tell your girls how much you love them and how you all need to get together again next weekend. You talk afties and Pokey Stix when suddenly all of the lights go on. And suddenly 4 0′clock cutie isn’t looking too good.

My POV: This is by far the best part of my night. Since drink orders are done, it’s my chance to sit back, relax, take a shot with the bartender, and admire all that is going on around me. The look of horror that come over faces as soon as the lights turn on is priceless; just when you thought you were surrounded by hotties in a hip night club, you realize that theses “hotties” are covered in pit stains and your fake tan is running down your face. And that “hip night club” is just a dirty, windowless basement. With dirty bathroom water on the floor.

What a great way to end the night. Now it’s time for me to head home and enjoy my Jimmy Johns #12 with Say Yes to the Dress on DVR.

[This post was originally written by Kelly - University of Iowa.]

So you’re going to be a freshman. Thanks to your advisor/mom/campus tour/Bed Bath and Beyond advertisements, you think you’re ready. You learned how to do laundry, you’ve purchased the Twin XL sheets, you measured your future dorm room (and cried when you realized you could touch all 4 walls from the middle of the room) and all those A.P. classes have prepared you for the workload that comes in college.

Congrats. You now know about 10% of what you need to know to survive freshman year.

The truth is, there is a lot that happens your first year of college that no advisor (and especially not your parental units) is going to know about. And that’s why we’re here – to get you from Welcome Week through final exams in one glorious piece. And to try and stop you from making the same mistakes we did. Again and again.

You wanna survive your first year of college? Avoid any and all of these freshman year faux pas:

1. 8am class.
Despite thinking that 8am really is not that early, there is no way you are actually getting up for this class once you begin to discover that there is potential to party every night of college.  Do yourself a favor and don’t even try. 99% of the time, this class will be offered at another time or another semester. If you have to re-work your entire schedule and eliminate time for lunch between classes, do it. I promise, it’s worth it.

2. Hooking up with an older frat boy…and thinking that he will automatically fall in love with you.
In reality, college boys have been waiting three years to finally be big men on campus and use this status to hit on freshman girls.  Have fun, just try not to get too attached.

3. Puking in Public.
You’re in college.  Great job! This means you have pretty much unlimited access to alcohol.  This does not mean that your tolerance has gone up since high school. While the people around you may be able to slam 10 beers in 10 minutes, it might not be the case for you. Don’t be stupid. And if you are, excuse yourself before you become “girl who puked in her hands.”

4. Skipping Class.
I get it: skipping lecture where there are 300 people and no one takes attendance is tempting. But don’t do it. Lecture notes are incredibly important to your academic success and oftentimes the professor will discuss things that are not in your assigned reading but are in your final exam. Getting to class isn’t hard, so suck it up, bring some snacks and get to it.

5. Showing up to a frat party with male friends.
The rule of frats is simple:  chicks are in, and guys are always going to have to wait.  Do yourself a favor and make your group at least a 2:1 ratio in favor of the female gender.

6. All Sweats, All The Time
Ah, sweatpants. Love ‘em. But despite the comfort they provide (especially after you #3 and you’ve got a #1), they don’t love you back. Between the drunk eating, nasty dorm food, and major beer calories, you will gain weight. And without the guide that only a non-elastic waistband can provide, you’ll never know it. Put on some jeans once in awhile.

7.  Overdressing in theme.
Theme parties are great, but remember that as a freshman, you will likely be party hopping (especially if you mess up on #4 and can’t get in to the party you dressed for).  Don’t go all out for a “CEO and Corporate Hoes” party unless you plan to stay there all night.  Otherwise you may end up wearing a bra and a pencil skirt at an ’80s party, and that’s just not cool.

8. Spending all of your time video chatting.
While your home friends are great, so are the people at college!  Branch out, and learn to put away your Skype for some real person time so that you actually make new friends.  While a little bit of homesickness is normal, a relationship with your computer is not.

9. Winging an Exam.
If you did fine in high school not studying, good job.  That’s not how it works here.  Even those of us who do study can’t always make the grades, so don’t hurt yourself before you even take the exam. This is what you’re here for, after all.

10. Drunk Dialing Your Parents
It’s funny at the moment, but no one’s laughing the next morning when your mom calls at 9am and gives you “the talk.”

[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!]

One night in the beginning of the semester, my roommates and I decided to drink tequila (read: my clothes would come off). A few hours in, I started to get the itch and texted the last boy I made out with. He was at a party and I was so desperate for some lovin’ that I walked there by myself. When I got there, he was making out with another girl.

But that didn’t stop me.

I hung around the party for awhile, drinking and mingling, until I finally decided this was bullsh*t and I was going home. As soon as I grew a backbone and walked out the door, he texted me to wait for him, and of course I did. He came out to meet me after 15 long minutes and we went back to his frat house.

Once in his room, things started getting hot and heavy, so I asked if he had a condom. He got up, walked over to a drawer to put one on, and then came back to continue…well, you know.

After a few minutes (seriously, like 3) we were done and I excused myself to use the bathroom. Had I had my wits about me I would have slipped my shoes on before walking into that cesspool, but I didn’t. And it was gross. Anyway, I finished my business and tip-toed back to his room. I got back into his queen-sized bed and tried to go to sleep.  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was met with the oh-so-polite response of “um, yeah, you could either walk home or stay the night.” I was obviously staying, dumb ass. Hence the whole “getting into bed” thing. He continued:

“But if you stay over, you can’t sleep in my bed. I have personal space issues.”

Umm, EXCUSE ME!?!? This guy whose “personal space” was just inside my “personal space” was now telling to sleep on the futon? I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I seriously have issues, you can ask my mom,” he said. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. Call up the mother of my one-night-stand to confirm deep-seated psychological problems.

Instead, I threw the covers off, put my dress back on (sans panties, but I was not about to stick around any longer looking for them), and walked right out the door. All the way back to my place, alone, in the middle of the night. It was cold, it was shady, and my feet hurt like a mofo, but there was no way in hell I was spending a second on some jerky frat boy’s dirty futon. There was not enough tequila in the world to make me do that.

My sophomore year I lived with my best friend in an all-girls’ dorm. Needless to say, squeezing 500+ girls into one building was begging for trouble. Constantly surrounded by tampon wrappers, curling irons and vaginas (I mean, really) took its toll on my tiny, horny roomie. She met a guy in her Creative Writing class who she believed to be “the One,”even though he was an obvious tool (bleach blonde, tan, AND president of a frat). But she was starved for some lovin’, and started to see (read: have sex with) him on a regular basis.

One night in the fall, she dragged a couple of us out to one of his events, a chicken-wing eating contest at a famously tasty local bar. We went, hoping for some free grub. Unfortunately, the only one of us who got to taste anything at the contest was my roomie, who was proudly sucking face with the frat president, who, I swear, had little flecks of BBQ sauce crusting in the corners of his mouth.

So, to ease my own guilt about being single and hungry, I started to order some shots at the bar. Eventually, I was plastered, happily snapping drunk kissy-face pics with two of my other girl friends. The roomie (and toolbag) were nowhere to be found.

After searching for roomie in all the obvious places (the bathroom stall with her head glued to the toilet bowl, the men’s restroom, the alley out back), my friends and I decided we had no choice but to search for her at the frat boy’s house. We stumbled through the streets of our college town, trying to recall which frat it was that our tiny friend’s lover boy belonged to. We knocked on several doors and were greeted by many (angry, drunk, sleeping) frat boys before we found the right house. But, to our drunken dismay, the front door was LOCKED. So, we did what any drunk college girls would do and found an open window at the back of the house.

Once we were all inside the living room, we started looking for our roomie. I recalled a conversation I had with her about how awkward it was that Mr. President lived on the first floor alone (and right next to the communal TV room), so we started knocking on the door next to the TV room. And when we didn’t hear so much as a hushed “OMG, someone’s knocking!” we started POUNDING. And screaming the roomie’s name at the top of our lungs. And kicking the door with our stilettos. It wasn’t that we wanted to ruin her fun; it was that in our drunken haze we didn’t want to leave her all by herself with some random guy. We were looking out for our friend!

After several failed attempts, we figured the two were in the middle of a magical, frat-boy- love-making sesh, so we decided to make ourselves comfortable until they were finished. Then we could all walk home together and make sure she made it home safely.

We made our way to the kitchen and started raiding the fridge. (What? We were hungry!) And that is when we found ourselves in drunk girl heaven. There, staring right back at us, was a HUGE GALLON BUCKET OF LEFT-OVER CHICKEN WINGS just chillin’ in the fridge.

We lunged at the bucket, plopped on the couch and started to nom, throwing chicken bones at the TV, sticking them between couch cushions, and wiping our sticky, BBQ-covered digits on the couch cover. It was pure bliss.

Eventually, our sticky knuckles were grazing the bottom of the bucket. The wings were gone.  Feeling somewhat guilty (and totally bloated), we decided it was time to leave. Roomie could figure out her own way home.

However, when I got back to my dorm, I found roomie and frat boy snuggled up in her twin size bed. She had been there the entire time. I quickly jumped in the shower and brushed my teeth to wipe away any evidence of my late night snack, then hopped into bed.

The next day, roomie and the boy attended class together. She came home from class a little disheveled and sad-looking. When I asked her what was wrong, she said: “[Frat boy] was pretty pissed off today. I guess one of the guys ate all the left-over chicken wings and made a huge mess and no one will fess up. He even had to cancel our plans tonight for a mandatory house meeting. Like, seriously, who does that?”

Uh….Woops?

Unfortunately my required outfit is less extravagant

Giving up my nights out was not something I was especially prepared to do when I started scouring my college town for a job; who wants to be folding clothes amidst an asthma-inducing Abercrombie cologne cloud late into the evening when your girls are out at $1 pitcher night? Nobody.

That’s why I became a cocktail waitress.

Well, that and I heard Tiger Woods George Clooney was fond of them.

Naturally, I see a lot of…er… interesting, for lack of a better word, things during the late night shifts. Things that I know I’ve been guilty of doing, and that all you CC ladies are probably guilty of, as well. Believe me, your signature twist+bend and snap combo dance moves do not look as sexy as you think, even if that drunk frat boy tells you they are. And as good as Journey is, “Don’t Stop Believing” is not “the best song of all effing time!!”

Because our thoughts tend to be a little muddled when we’re a few sheets to the stale bar air wind, I thought I’d help everyone see just what a typical drunken night is from a more honest (read: sober) perspective. So join me as we analyze things (hey, we’re all friends here!) from both sides of the crowded bar.

Your Point of View: It’s 11:00pm and you and your friends raced into the bar in 5 inch heels because it’s winter in the Midwest and coats are a pain in the buttcheeks to carry around. The warm air inside brings out a sigh of the relief.

My Point of View: GIRL you must be KIDDING. IT’S WINTER IN THE MIDWEST! Except I’ll tell you that I never wear coats out either and no, your nose isn’t running that bad! Oh, and that happy sigh you made when feeling came back to your fingers sounded more like a cross between the sound I make when I see spider (EEEE!) and when I see a hot Mexican with a beard (ughhhYES).

Your POV: Shots! Shots! Shots! Shotshotshots! I LOVE shots and I LOVE this song!

My POV: I would literally be a millionaire if I got a dollar every time someone ordered shots from me in that manner. A billionaire if I got an additional dollar every time people sang that just to get my attention and then order something completely different.

Your POV: Cutie alert at  ‘clock! Take a quick selfie to see if you’re still looking as hot as you were when you left.

My POV: Much like how a car loses value when you drive it off the lot, all of the effort you put into looking good starts to depreciate when you walk in the bar. There’s no way around it. It’s going to be hot, you’re going to sweat, your perfect hair poof is going to fall flat (unless you’re Snookie, of course), and drinks are going to fall on you. Let’s just all take a second and give thanks to the very forgiving bar lighting.

Your POV: Yes, 4 0′clock cutie noticed you. He walks over, says he remembers you from class, and buys you a drink. Things are going great, so great that you invite him on the dance floor. And if his moves are good (and he buys you a few more rum and diets), maybe you’ll invite him back to your apartment.

My POV: First off, he does not remember you from class. He just chose a random gen ed, like Elementary Psych, because it has 500+ people in the lecture and there was a good chance you took it too. Second, his moves are def not good, but in the back of your head you knew it didn’t matter anyway. Third, men aren’t always good to you, but burritos always are. If he won’t offer to pay for your drunchies after all those drinks he handed out, don’t take him anywhere near your abode.

Your POV: Bartender yells “Last call!” and you get a huge group hug going to tell your girls how much you love them and how you all need to get together again next weekend. You talk afties and Pokey Stix when suddenly all of the lights go on. And suddenly 4 0′clock cutie isn’t looking too good.

My POV: This is by far the best part of my night. Since drink orders are done, it’s my chance to sit back, relax, take a shot with the bartender, and admire all that is going on around me. The look of horror that come over faces as soon as the lights turn on is priceless; just when you thought you were surrounded by hotties in a hip night club, you realize that theses “hotties” are covered in pit stains and your fake tan is running down your face. And that “hip night club” is just a dirty, windowless basement. With dirty bathroom water on the floor.

What a great way to end the night. Now it’s time for me to head home and enjoy my Jimmy Johns #12 with Say Yes to the Dress on DVR.

I’m pretty sure a former frat boy had something to do with this.