“Are you sexually active?” inquired Dr. Nancy with her beady eyes judging my contraceptive-popping self. What the hell are you supposed to say in that situation?

“Well, you see Nance, I did hook up with my ex-hook up two weeks ago but other than that it’s been quite the dry spell…” Nobody really wants to delve into their complicated lust life with a complete stranger.

This got me thinking, how does anybody really know if they are “sexually active”? To me, activity isn’t all-or-nothing; there are several levels to be aware of. Dr. Nancy, for instance, would abide by the criteria of “hyperactivity.” In other words, if you have ever touched a boy or even really thought about it, you are sexually active for the rest of your life and probably well after you’re dead.

Now no offense to my good pal Nance, but I personally prefer to look at sexual activity like geologists study volcanoes. By this definition, an active girl is one that is currently “erupting” or at least hooks up regularly. What constitutes hooking up is up to you and the righteousness of your moral code. What also is up to you is how you define the term “regularly.” For the sake of escaping the scrutinizing eye of a university nurse practitioner or a Catholic priest, you may choose to equate “regularly” with “every day.” That way you can have no qualms with looking into those judging eyes and confidently stating, “No, as a matter of fact, I am not sexually active.”

For those of you that are like me and (sadly) haven’t gotten any in a while, you may fall under the classification of dormant. You have hooked up in historical times, but you are not currently sleeping with anybody. But not to worry ladies, there is always the promise of future sexual eruptions (thanks, Snoop Dogg). Even the experts say, “The eruption that follows long dormancy is violent.” Hey, you may just be the next Mount Saint Helens of the bedroom.

The rest of us fall into the category of extinct. By definition, extinction implies that there is no evidence of any activity within recent memory. Contrary to common belief, however, this group is not just for the virgins. It may also include those that tend to hook up in any sort of intoxicated state, impairing any and every memory of activity.

No matter which category you identify with, the choice is yours and yours alone. And no matter what, don’t let anyone make you feel insecure about your frequency of eruption, not even your own Dr. Nancy…

Likey? Want some more, you saucy vixen? We got it.

My college has a week of orientation, so it never really felt like school until I walked into Geology on Tuesday morning. Before that, I had been watching movies with other freshmen, exploring—well, really getting lost in—the campus, and trying every imaginable ice cream combination at the dining halls.

From the moment I walked into my class, I realized I can’t just watch movies and eat ice cream for the next four years. Buying textbooks before the class was its own problem—really, if a book is used, shouldn’t it be dirt cheap, not just a fraction less expensive than the new version?—but being in a room filled with strangers, most not naïve first years like me, was unnerving.

In high school, the first day was one of my favorites. Sure, I hated knowing I had a year of work ahead of me, but I loved seeing old friends, catching up on summer gossip. Here, I sat down and immediately started taking notes. What part of this lecture was important enough to write down? Who was the person sitting next to me? Was I allowed to raise my hand to ask a question?

And then came the dreaded syllabus, something I’ve never used before. So now I have four separate syllabuses from my classes, all confirming that I will be piled down with reading and papers for the next few months. Not only is it overwhelming, but it’s making me feel hopeless to even consider joining clubs or having a semblance of a social life in college while keeping up with work. Sure, I worked hard for the last four years. But that was nothing.

What really scares me is I just don’t know what to expect. One professor told me to call him by his first name, but I’ve heard that another thinks “Hi Professor _____” in an email is too informal. Upperclassmen have told me that some professors expect students to drop by during office hours, while others think it’s a nuisance. How am I supposed to gauge what is expected from me?

From new subject matter to new academic expectations to new professors, I am overwhelmed. When I look at my cluttered dorm room and list of homework in my agenda, I still can’t believe I’ve been here for less than two weeks. And I can’t help but partly wish I were back at camp, not college.