It’s been a long night. The only thing on your mind is throwing the 12 decorative pillows (that your mom insisted you buy) off your big comfy bed and burying yourself under that warm, fluffy blanket.

You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got a boy in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch. Read More »

Let me take you back to a simpler time: my sophomore year of college. I had recently been dumped by my longtime boyfriend, and after about a month of taking solace in Half Baked and Friends reruns, I was finally ready to put myself on the market again.

I went to a party with my friends and proceeded to get drunker than I had been since my senior prom. A few hours and several sketchy mixed drinks later, a curly-haired boy started dancing with me. He wasn’t exactly my type, but since I was on the rebound and, let’s face it, not exactly in the best position to be making decisions, I went with it. I had never randomly hooked up with someone I had met at a party before, but I was convinced that doing that tonight would make me forget all about what’s-his-face.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Curly told me he was leaving. “Okay!” I yelled.

“The thing is, I want you to come with me,” he delicately screamed over the dulcet sounds of Lil John and the Eastside Boyz’s “Get Low.”

“Okay!” I yelled again. Read More »

I love boys. I love boys so tall they might hit their heads when they walk through a doorway and boys so short they’ve probably never entertained fantasies of basketball stardom. I love boys as dark as the blackest coffee, as white as the snow that I am not looking forward to this winter, and every shade in between. Give me a boy, any boy, and I’ll find something I love about him.

This is why even I wondered if I was slightly insane when I decided to completely abstain from boys this summer.

The decision (The Vow, as I now refer to it) was something I really had to think about. I knew that going home to Miami would mean I’d have options for a summer fling. Beautiful, jacked, sun-god-like options that seem to only exist in dreams. But, having been single for over three years, I needed a break.

I think that relationships, as amazing as they can be, sometimes just aren’t worth it. I’m incredibly busy, as are most college students, so I only want to make time in my life for someone if we have something I can’t imagine giving up. But while being single right now is best for me, it can be so exhausting. From wondering if the attractive guy digs me back to whether or not to be physical with a guy I may not have emotional connections with, I was just sick of it. So, to the surprise of my friends, I decided that for summer, I’d basically be like one of the nuns that taught me in grade school. Except I’d still curse and wear bikinis and stuff.

When people would ask my why I was doing this, I usually said something new-agey like “I just need some time to really be alone. I need to focus on myself.” And focus on myself I did. I took a mini road trip with one of my best friends to an amazing art exhibit. I re-read one of my favorite books that I haven’t read since junior year of high school. I started doing Pilates, which completely rejuvenated and calmed me. I surrounded myself with the carefree joy of children, and picked some of their confidence along the way. 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 »

We’re growing up in a weird, hook-up focused culture where the term “dating” is more undefinable than Lindsay Lohan’s sexuality. When a guy is chatting you up at a party or a bar, one would think it’s safe to assume he’s interested in you. But in the world of flirtation and intoxication, the intentions are as fuzzy as your legs in the winter.

How can you tell if the person you’re talking to is actually interested in you, or just interested in an interchangeable sex buddy to use later that night? You’re too special to be referred to as “hot girl with the big rack,” so learn how to tell which guys are genuinely interested, and which guys are playing their odds with every girl in the room.

So how do you know if the guy hitting on you thinks you’re extra sexy or used the same opener and closer on a chick three feet away from you?

Unless you possess the super human ability to actually read men’s actions, it can be a tricky feat. But one sure fire way to discern whether he is talking to you or to your breasts is to try and assess the quality of conversation. It’s understandable that after a couple shots of Jack you’re not going to be discussing the impact of gender on social roles in Sri Lanka, but are the only words coming out of his mouth, “Oh baby you look like such a good kisser”? If he’s legitimately trying to get to know you, you should be able to recount 3 interesting facts he’s told you about himself, and 3 interesting facts he’s asked you about yourself. (“What color are your panties?” does NOT count). Read More »

[We go to bars. We meet cute boys. We make ill advised decisions. We move on.

Sure, that’s a bit of an oversimplification. It leaves out the emotional repercussions that I know all too well. But, so far as actions go, it’s a pretty accurate description of my pattern.]

We finally settled on a bar. Two girls, and a boy interested in one of them swigged Corona Lights. I sipped on a vodka and Diet Coke. Now, I wonder if my beverage of choice was more recognizable than my face. I lose weight. I gain weight. I change eye shadows and get tan. The vodka diet never changes.

I saw a guy across the bar and smiled at him. He smiled back. I smiled again, this time pleased that he had returned my expression of interest. He whispered to his friend, and began to approach. My heart skipped a beat.

“Hi. Are you Ava?” Read More »

Whatever happened to “no glove, no love”?

These days, forgoing condoms is practically considered proof of love … but intentionally unprotected sex isn’t merely a practice exclusive to the betrothed or married. “Forget ’sex without condoms is the new engagement ring’,”writes journalist Rachel Hills in this month’s edition of Australian women’s mag, Cleo. “For a lot of people, it seems, sex without condoms is the new ‘going steady’.”

I see where Rachel is going with this one, but I’d even take it one step further and say that condomless sex (the non-accidental variety) isn’t even limited to those in love.

In my post-high school romances, the sexual exclusivity (A.K.A. “Who else are you sleeping with cuz I’d like to ditch the condoms”) talk has always preceded the relationship talk, but I’ve also discussed the issue with guys who I never had an interest in seriously dating. The subject has been broached with f**k buddies, casual interests, and boyfriends alike. What I’ve learned is that the nature of the relationship — whether it’s a serious romance or a sexual fling — matters less than how well I know and trust my partner. I might go out on regular dates with a new guy for a couple months and never suggest giving up condoms, but will bring it up after a just few short weeks of sleeping with a trusted male friend.

That doesn’t mean I approach unprotected sex with a flippant attitude. Rather, I bring up sexual exclusivity not so I can secure a regular hook-up, but as part of a larger conversation about responsible practices. Unfortunately, the only thing more awkward than officially defining a relationship is initiating a conversation about sexual exclusivity. You may be concerned about appearing presumptuous, especially if you’re sleeping with someone who you’re not dating and don’t want to send the wrong romantic signals. But uncomfortable as the conversation might be, you can’t skip that step altogether if you’re thinking of losing the glove (nor should you be having sex if you’d rather cross your fingers than actually communicate about these issues). Read More »

I’ve hooked up with quite a few people in my time on this planet. I won’t share my number here, because that’s nobody’s business but mine and the unfortunate roommates who had to listen as I added more boys to the list, but let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of romps.

My “number,” however, only reflects about 75% of them.

Why? Well, because there are some that just shouldn’t count. Like the guy who couldn’t keep it up, or the one who left while I was sleeping and I wouldn’t recognize again if he was lying in my bed completely naked. Or the one who referred to my lady parts as “Taco Bell” (as in, “Yo quiero your Taco Bell”) and was immediately asked to leave.

Why should I count someone who likened my vajay to a Chalupa?

We all have those guys or hookups that just shouldn’t count. And by “count” I mean “never happened and I am going to drink heavily so I completely block it out.” I asked the CollegeCandy writers to tell me which guys didn’t make their list. Where do you draw the line? Read More »

I was working late on a Friday night and the guys at work convinced me to hang out at the bar afterward. My mom was in town, so I went to a little martini bar with her after work and actually stayed out pretty late (for her).  When she went back to the hotel at just past midnight, I called the guys to ask where they were.  They all answered they were in a local dive bar not too far away.  I headed over and did a couple rounds – they were nowhere to be found. I texted, called – nothing. So I decided they were having too much fun to answer at that moment (we’ve all been there) and I sidled up to the bar to have a drink and wait for a bit.  No sooner had I ordered than some creeper had latched on.  I was trying to be polite, but made it clear I was waiting for people.  He kind of smirked and asked, “Well, where are your friends, then?”

“Um…I don’t know. They’ll be here soon.”

“Well, while you wait, you can sit at my table.”

Meh.  I wasn’t doing anything, so I headed over and stood near his table with his friends (also creepers).  After about three minutes, I decided that more drinking was needed.

“Oh wait, I see my friend at the bar. Sorry!” I practically ran away, desperately searching for any guy standing alone.  Bingo. Japanese guy with his back to me. I rushed up to him and tapped his shoulder.  “Hi, this is weird, but I need you to pretend to know me because I need rescuing from those guys over there in the booth.”

He looked bemused and simply shrugged his ascension. Read More »

In the summer, I want to be entertained without thinking. I admit to occasionally cracking a textbook, but the majority of my summer reading tends to be a little mindless and purely entertaining. In the summer, I abandon content and literary merit in favor of laughs and a good story.

So here is a good story for all you readers. “The Alphabetical Hookup List” by Phoebe McPhee is a hilarious roller coaster series of three books. Starring Jodi, Celeste and Ali, three VERY different girls forced to live together in a dorm at Pollard University, the series is literally a laugh-a-minute.

At first, the girls don’t get along at all and try to sabotage each other. Finally, over a bottle of tequlia one night, they bond, and decide to embark on the quest from which the title gets its name. They will compete in a contest to find out who can kiss a boy whose name starts with each letter of the alphabet the fastest. From that plot line alone, you can imagine all the terrific hook-up stories that fill this book.

Besides the laughs that come from the girls attempting to kiss their way through all 26 letters the fastest, there are also attempts to join sororities, pass classes and avoid some pretty interesting characters the girls meet along the way. Well, maybe interesting isn’t the right word…

Summer is the perfect time to turn off the brain and enjoy books for once; The Alphabetical Hookup List is just the way to do it.