[Everyone’s got a morning after story (some of which include less than stable lofts) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I consider myself a pretty honest person. I’m no Mother Theresa, but I don’t lie, especially to authority figures and people I need things from. Back in my sophomore year, I didn’t exactly live up to this creed and it came back to kick my butt. Hard.

Let’s go back to fall of my sophomore year, when my biggest problems were which Halloween party to go to and how to convince my boyfriend to dress up as a Disney prince.  After promising baked goods and undergoing a frantic search for final accessories, we were ready to make our rounds to the nearby apartment parties, ready to wow the crowd with our awesome outfits and get lots of Facebook-worthy pictures. I was on my game, almost.

Read More »

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (some of which are way more mortifying than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I’ve come to learn two fundamental truths this week: the happy hour does not exist, and breaking and entering is easier than it looks. I’m serious.

If I had known that a quick drink with a friend after work was going to lead to free steaks with married men, a rooftop bar with what may or may not have been a British boy band on holiday, and a late night snack session alone in my friend’s boss’s apartment, I would have worn a better outfit to work that day.  Because that’s my biggest regret of the night… obvi.

But as I was saying before, there is no singular hour that is happy, at least not in my world. Personally, I want each hour to be happier than the next. And I accomplished that, to the max, with my friend Monica this past (epic) Wednesday night. One beer turned into three different bars, multiple drafts, and a gaggle of new male friends with money to spend. So, despite the wedding bands and balding heads, when they offered to take us out to dinner, who were we to say no? Read More »

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (some are more traumatic than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I met Josh* one night in October and thought he was cute. He was tall, had dark hair and eyes, a nice body and dressed REALLY well. (You know boy’s attire can be important, so don’t even deny it.) We met when I was pre-gaming in the dorm, so it wasn’t like I ever knew him when I wasn’t under the influence, and this tends to lead to bad decisions on my part. Very bad decisions.

Post-pre game with the girls (and him) we went out – a frat party, a house party, who really remembers? All I remember is what happened when I got back to the dorm, which I definitely wish I could forget. We ended up having a really drunken emotional talk (while watching Wedding Crashers) and I found out he was a virgin. Was. Until that night. Because all of a sudden, out of nowhere, we were hooking up. And then I swiped his V-Card.

This alone would have been bad enough, but afterwards we were sitting in his bed and he was all “Oh my god, I need to make some calls.” Thinking he was going to grab his phone and tell his roommate he could come back from his sexiling, I moved over to let him get out of bed. Only that wasn’t the call he was making.

He jumped out of his twin extra-long bunk, grabbed his phone and proceeded to call his best friend from home. I know this because this is how the conversation went: Read More »

While perusing (and by “perusing” I mean obsessively checking and re-checking) Facebook for the fourth time yesterday, I noticed that no one had done anything since the last time I logged in (an hour before). In a fit of never ending boredom that made signing off impossible, I decided to look at pictures of me.

Of the 300ish photos of me, 250 involved drinking and 249 of those involved me making some sort of awful face. Not like “I wasn’t ready for the camera” awful; more like, “I am going to make the ugliest face I can think of” awful. The sad part is that I can distinctly remember taking most of those pictures and consciously making the faces that are now staring back at (and horrifying) me.

I even giggled as I made one of my uglier faces and poked my head into what would have been a cute picture of friends. Why did I ever think that was a good idea?

Self Reflective Beer Goggles, that’s why.

It’s like the minute the beer hits my lips, I am somehow unable to take a picture without doing something completely stupid. Whether it is an awful face, mimicking oral sex with a beer bottle or thinking of a ridiculous scenario (“Your boyfriend just asked you to pee on him”) before snapping a selfie, I always look horribly, terrifyingly, bad. Read More »

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though some are way more disturbing than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

While you’re busy busting out A+’s and making new friends in college, it’s always really nice to go home for a weekend. And that is especially true during your freshman year when home friends routinely have elaborate parties where people drunkenly reunite.  It’s great really; chugging a few fuzzy navels with your best high school buddies, reminiscing about all of the TOTES COOL theme parties you’ve encountered on frat row so far, and all of the (Oh Em Gee) hot dudes you’ve met.

My particular high-school-post-first-month-of-college party came in late September my freshman year.  My entire high school class was there (literally all 170 of us), and we finally had enough over 21 contacts to scrounge up all of the alcohol we could ask for. We even had tents set up for drunken hook-ups sleeping.  Now, in order to follow the story, I have to set a prominent scene for you. The location of the party was any college kid’s dream: it was a giant hill in someone’s backyard that opened up to a serene lake with a small mud wrestling pit, a sauna, a hot tub and a huge dock.

It was heaven and everyone was so excited to be there with all of our friends that the drinking became excessive. Read More »

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though I can say with absolute certainty that not everyone's includes a private plane and handcuffs) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

Last weekend I went to my friend’s birthday at one of those exclusive NYC clubs where you can’t get in if you’re not on a list. My friends and I got decked out for a big night on the town, which meant I put on a really short dress, slipped on my big practically-unwalkable heels, and shaved my legs. At first everything at the club was really fun and really trendy and really vodka-y. I was dancing on the tables and shamelessly hitting on guys. But that’s what happens when you’re drinking for free.

You know what also happens when you’re drinking for free? People lose their inhibitions as well as their dignity. One couple went from grinding on the dancing floor to humping on a booth. And while they were humping another couple edged into our corner and started getting busy. It didn’t take long before both girls were straddling the guys with their dresses pulled up and their underwear pushed down. While I can’t say that I saw actual intercourse (hard to see things when you’re shielding your eyes), I did see fingers going places fingers do not belong when those fingers are in public. One of the tables began shaking so hard that a waiter came over.  However I wrongly assumed that the waiter would stop the couple. Instead he just removed the glasses off the table so that there would be not broken glass when they started going at it on the floor. It’s at this point I started asking myself what was going on and what was I doing there. Read More »

[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!]

It was one of the first warm nights in a long time and everyone on campus was throwing impromptu house parties. I knew I’d be walking all over campus, so I ditched my plans for a dress and heels and opted for jeans and flip flops instead. I met up with some of the girls in my sorority and we headed out to one of the many parties of the night.

A few hours and about 8 games of beer pong later, we ended up at some friend of a friend of a friend’s house. Not one of the 4 girls I was with knew anyone who actually lived in the house, and after doing a few laps around the backyard realized that we didn’t really recognize anyone at the party either.

“Let’s just go inside, pee, and then we’ll move on to the next party.” Cindy suggested, and having already broken the seal long ago, we all agreed. Read More »

[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!]

My night began like most others: taking shots to the beat of some Lady Gaga song (gimme a break – it was last fall), followed by endless rounds of pong (and probably some trash talking about how I once made a behind-the-back shot). To say the least, my texting abilities slowly declined with each game, and soon my night went from “hey what’s good?” to “meet pu laterrrrrrr???”

Eventually, I was kicked off the pong table and headed out to meet up with my “friend,” Mark. We headed back to his room where his roommate (and one of my best friends), Jack, was apparently entertaining a girl. Mark informed me that we’d have to hang out for a bit before heading upstairs, so we sat outside and I relived my awesome beer pong shots while Mark rubbed my thigh. Soon enough, Jack came outside for his post-coital cigarette and started telling me about how he already prefaced my arrival by telling his girl about how great I am and how I’m his best friend how much I matter to him. Read More »

[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!]

So the dorm policy at our school is tighter than a drum, and at times, it seems as though the administration has figured out every possible way to keep us out of each other’s dorms at 3 am.  Luckily, for one dorm, a crafty little in-and-out maneuver has been devised called The Sneak.  One night, I was (un)fortunate enough to get a glimpse of just how The Sneak works.

I really shouldn’t have hooked up with this guy, but such is the story of my life.  We went back to his dorm and “hung out” for a little bit, and then drifted off together.  It seemed to be a pretty standard night as far as these nights go, but it took a very weird turn around 4 am.

The guy and I didn’t even hear the door open, but apparently it did, as we figured out in about five minutes. I awoke to hear a kind of grunting and girl moaning, which I cleverly deduced was not his roommate.  My guy awoke at this point, having also heard the noise, and peeked over the loft to see what was going on.

“Looks like [roommate] brought someone back,” he muttered.

Uh, obviously.  Read More »

One Friday night after a long week, a couple of friends who live in the next apartment complex threw a party. After getting all dolled up (and taking a few roomie shots), two of my roommates and I headed over with numerous handles of vodka, while the other two headed to a different shindig. Upon our arrival, my boyfriend met us there and all of us decided this was a night to get really, really drunk.

We started taking shots immediately as music blasted and the party got more and more crowded.  It was a small apartment with tons of people inside, making it hard to move around, so logically we just stayed put in the corner we were in… and continued to take shots…for a few hours. We eventually stumbled to another party where my boyfriend and I got separated from our friends and, feeling frisky, decided to just make our way back to my place for a little lovin’.

Things were goin’ well in the bedroom. And by well, I mean crazy. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got a little too much booze running through your system. We were in the middle of a particularly acrobatic situation when my boyfriend, who I must have been relying on to hold me up, suddenly fell off the bed. Naturally, I went down with him, slamming my head on my dresser along the way. I hit the floor as a searing pain shot through my head and my ear felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t move. I layed there in the fetal position moaning as my boyfriend freaked out. Read More »