Despite having 5 top-ten hits in one year, people constantly hate on pop singer Ke$ha. I hear it all the time: “Ke$ha is awful,” “She’s so gross!” and of course, “What is wrong with that slutty girl?”

While I can understand why some people don’t stand behind her gold tooth, nose ring, obsession with body paint, catchy techno pop beats, and copious amounts of glitter references in her songs, I can’t understand how people (especially college girls) don’t want to dance along with her.

I mean, Ke$ha is the ultimate college girl!

Think about it. Her songs are no different than average college life on a Saturday night, yet people are constantly “offended” or “shocked” by what she sings about. What, you can’t handle a little truth? A look in the mirror? Look past the nappy hair, the record deal, and the dollar sign in her name and Ke$ha is just like you and I.

And if you don’t see that, I’ll break it all down for ya…Ke$ha style.

In her third single, “Take It Off,” Ke$ha sings:

“There’s a place downtown, where the freaks all come around/ It’s a hole in the wall/ It’s a dirty free for all.” (Editor’s Note: Is it stuck in your head yet??)

Yeah, and that place is probably a beer soaked fraternity basement or an off-campus party house that has no toilet paper in a bathroom that doesn’t lock. And those freaks are your classmates intoxicated on jungle juice and Natty light, dressed up in Christmas sweaters, Halloween costumes, togas, spandex, and God knows what else depending on the occasion or party theme.

“And now we lookin’ like pimps in my gold Trans-Am / Got a water bottle full of whiskey in my handbag / Got my drunk text on/ I’ll regret it in the morning.”

So maybe no one you know has a Trans-Am, but you definitely know some girl (or you are that girl) with a Dasani bottle full of vodka/tequila/rum/whiskey (or some really disgusting combo of the 4). If you aren’t the girl with the bottle, you are defintely one of the many girls drinking out of said bottle (remember how you got Mono your freshman year?) until you get your own Solo cup of booze in your hand. Oh, and don’t even act like you’ve never drunk texted or drunk dialed your ex-boyfriend, his mom (I know someone who did this — twice), your high school frenemies, and pretty much every other person you’ve ever met. If it happens to Ke$ha, it’s probably happened to you.

But wait, there’s more!

When Ke$ha first came out with her song “Tik Tok,” I constantly heard people say “This girl is crazy.” Pssh … this song is just your average Saturday morning (morning meaning sometime after 1pm considering you were up till 3am the night before) pre-game anthem. Not only does she tell you what it’s like to wake up the next morning (like P-Diddy, of course), but she tells you what to expect for that night (“boys blowing up our phones” and “pulling up to parties, trying to get a little bit tipsy”).  Consider Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok” to be an education in the ways of the college party world:

“And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got / But we kick ‘em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger/ I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk/ Boys tryin’ to touch my junk, junk/ Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk”

While it’s doubtful that most girls are looking for a Mick Jagger type to hook up with, Ke$ha knows what’s up when it’s time to get rid of those guys that don’t stand a chance but won’t leave you alone. You know, the ones that are too drunk, too gross (probably wearing oversized t-shirts), and grinding on you like you’re a stripper pole. But you don’t let that stop you. Nothing will keep you from getting your party on.

Ok, well … maybe a few things will stop you from getting your party on. Like your best friend puking on the dance floor, your ex-boyfriend chasing you around trying to talk to you, and of course, campus safety or the police showing up. “We go until they kick us out or the police shut us down.” So true, girl … so true.

And last but not least, it’s hard to ignore Ke$ha’s latest song “We R Who We R,” the ultimate college girl dance anthem:

“Tonight we’re going hard/ Just like the world is ours/ We’re tearin’ it apart/ You know we’re superstars!/ We are who we are/ We’re dancing like we’re dumb/ Our bodies go numb / We’ll be forever young!”

Nothing is better than dancing alone, dancing with your best friends, dancing with your boyfriend, and being all dressed up (possibly with glitter on your eyes) and feeling like nothing else matters except having fun. Even though we might not all have “Jesus on our necklace” like Ke$ha does, we are no different when we’re dancing on table tops, throwing beer pong balls across the room, and celebrating yet another Friday night — it’s just who we are!

Whether you think Ke$ha needs a bath or not, it doesn’t matter.  These songs are your weekend soundtrack, your dance floor anthems. Ke$ha’s wardrobe is what you wear on your birthday to the club. Her glitter, ripped up stockings, and attitude are you and your best friends at a Girl Talk concert on a Friday night. She is you with your head in the toilet after too many jello shots. Ke$ha is that girl toilet papering her ex-boyfriend’s car while drunk texting his best friend.

Even though Ke$ha may be a glittery gimmick and even though she never even went to college, I can’t help but wish she was the girl next door in my dorm. Oh wait, she was.

[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!]

After months of leading me on, the boy I was falling in love with decided to hook up with one of my hall mates. I probably wouldn’t have even found out had I not woken up early that Saturday morning to go for a run…and found him walking down the hall with his shirt inside-out and his shoes in his hand.

I said nothing, just walked by him and ran down the stairs. It wasn’t until I was a mile into my run that I sat down and cried. A big cry. A snot down the face cry. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone. I wiped my nose on my wife beater (which I promptly threw in the garbage when I got home), got up and ran back to my apartment building.

“We going out tonight,” I shouted to my roommate when I got back. “And I’m getting hammered.”

“Uh, OK.” She responded from under her covers. “I’m just gonna need a Gatorade first, but I’m down. What’s the occasion?”

“Ben’s an a**hole.” I sat on her bed and explained what I’d witnessed that morning. She didn’t seem surprised – she’d never liked him – but she supported me anyway. An hour later, we were on our way back from the grocery store, trunk full of Jello shot ingredients.

By the time we made it to the bar that night, our mouths were red from Jello and our minds were blurry from multiple rounds of Franzia pong. So when I spotted Ben across the bar with his friends, I wasn’t sad. Instead I decided I’d ignore him (and by ignore him I mean find someone hotter to go home with to make him jealous.) I made my way to the bar (for a water – yeah, it was that kinda night) when I saw a hot guy in a baseball cap.

“Who’s that guy?” I slurred to my roommate. But before she could answer me, I was already halfway over to him. Fast forward an hour and a few Jager bombs (why is it always Jager bombs with these boys?!) and we’re hailing a cab back to my place and I’m calling my roommate telling her not to come home. Only instead of calling Molly, I called Mom. At 1:00 in the morning.

I hung up as soon as I heard her voice, then promptly turned off my phone. I didn’t need her calling back while I was showing Hottie in the Hat my moves.

The boy and I eventually made it back to my place, cooked some Easy Mac on the stove (yes, I realize now that that was wrong…), then made our way to my room for a little somethin’ somethin’. Eventually, some time near 6 am, we finally passed out.

The next thing I remember, my door is being thrown open and my parents (!!) are standing at the foot of my bed…where I am lying naked….next to someone who’s name I can’t remember….who is also naked.

Yeah, let that one marinate.

Everything that happened next is a bit hazy but apparently this is how it all came to be:

I guess when I dialed “Molly” and got “Mom,” I attempted to hang up the phone but my drunk ass couldn’t hit the right button. Meanwhile, my mother, woken up at 1 am, hears nothing but “help” (which I presume I was saying to the anonymous boy) and a male voice before I hang up. She tried to call back – 11 times to be exact – but the phone was turned off. Expecting the worst, she woke up my dad around 3am and made him drive 4 hours with her to come to campus and check in on me.

Of course, the front door to the apartment was unlocked (woops?), making them more nervous, so my parents let themselves in and then made their way to my room to make sure I was OK.

Which I would have been, had they not showed up. I jumped under the covers, asked them to wait in the living room, and shooed the boy out of my apartment through the back door. Once I had collected myself and chugged a bottle of water, I joined my parents in the living room, ready to apologize one thousand times (and prepared to be completely cut off).

Only I didn’t have to. They were so happy I was safe, they hugged me tightly, thanked God I was OK and then invited me and my “Is that your new boyfriend??” out for breakfast.

And besides the obligatory “Please don’t ever scare us like that again,” we never again spoke of the awkward morning wake up call.

[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!]

I love grandmas.  Most of the time they are cute, harmless, and give you cards on your birthday with a five-dollar bill stuffed inside (which is promptly spent at Happy Hour).  They cook you meatballs, pass down ugly sweaters (that earn you the best-dressed title at the annual Ugly Sweater Party), and say the nicest things when you are convinced life is in WWIII with you.  So, yes, it has been fairly established that Grandmas are the bomb.com.  But as wonderful as they are and as much as you just wanna pinch their wrinkley little cheeks every time you see them, there is a time and a place for grandmas.

And that is not standing over my bed in the morning, after a night of doing Jell-O shots.

Let me explain:

I had been seeing a boy in the Air Force. We’d hang out and make wonderful memories when he was on leave and visiting home, and then I’d be free as a bird when he had to go back. It was fun while he was here, and it was fun when he was gone. On one particular visit home he had a party at his brother’s house the night he returned. I went, obviously, and enjoyed many shots of Grey Goose while sexily locking eyes with my Air Force stud from across the room. Eventually, he returned the look, came over and promptly led me to his room.

I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but I know it was probably great. I mean, the guy had Air Force abs; even just letting me rub my hands all over them would have been enough for me.

The next thing I remember was waking up from a nightmare starring Mrs. Doubtfire. For some reason she was yelling at me to get up. In my dream I contemplated slapping her and demanding she confess she was actually Robin Williams in a fat suit. And then reality woke me from my disoriented slumber.

Reality in grandmother form, I’d like to add.

Turns out, it wasn’t a dream at all. And it wasn’t Robin Williams in a wig. There, standing over the bed and yelling at me, was a real, live grandma. She was, petite, wrinkly, gray, and pissed. She was screaming the boy’s name I was laying next too so frantically she sounded like a deranged squirrel.

“Get UP. Clean up this mess!  Right now! Get UP!”

It took me a moment to realize what was going on. I looked at her. I looked at him. I looked down at myself…completely naked and sprawled out like a horny starfish. I grabbed the covers and pulled them up over my head; maybe she wouldn’t see me under there? I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, or be re-baptized.  What I did know was that the oxygen was running out under the covers and if Grandma didn’t leave soon, I would die in that bed.

My Air Force boy slowly rose from bed, totally casual. You know, as if it was just another hungover Saturday and he was gonna grab a G2. Not like his very own grandmother wasn’t hovering over us, reminding me that I wasn’t even wearing socks. Anyone in their right mind would be absolutely traumatized for life by this, except him. (I guess it’s all that “be ready for anything” training he had gotten?)

He walked out of the room, his grandma following him out.
I pulled back the covers, grabbed my things and ran the hell out of there faster than I’d ever run before.

I’ll never look at a grandma the same again.

Halloween parties are freakin’ awesome. And it’s a known fact that us college kids will be running rampant all over the country come Halloween night. What other chance do we get to play beer pong as Kanye West and Taylor Swift (stopping the game mid-toss with a “Imma let you finish…” before snatching the pong ball from each other)?

But dressing up as a slutty ____ (insert anything here….no really, anything), isn’t the only way to celebrate.

If you’re going to throw a party or be a guest at one (and that covers pretty much everyone) why not go all out and make one of these awesome Halloween cocktails? We’re all suckers for themed parties, so why not do it up big? After we graduate, its not going to be acceptable anymore (not that that means we won’t still do it).

So ditch the wine coolers and the beer keg (mmm perhaps that can stay…) and get creative for the holiday. [Click on the images to get the ghoulishly tasty recipes!]

Fun Extras:
Okay, so us girls obviously appreciate cute little extras to help make a party festive. Here’s some easy ways to up the authenticity factor of your Halloween bash this year!

Eyeball Ice Cubes

Also, try freezing your ice cubes with fake bugs, severed fingers or tiny plastic babies inside! (Yea, we know it’s super creepy, but, come on, it’s Halloween!)

Syringe Jello Shots

So much more fun then the traditional jello shot! Plus you know everything hits you quicker when injected! (Note: do not actually inject the shot into your arm. Just makin’ sure….)

Glowing Swizzle Sticks

Use them for stir sticks to make the cocktails glow!

Bloody/Slime Rimmed Glasses

It’s disgusting, yes, but also totally tasty!

That’s where College Candy comes in. We’re not going to debate whether or not the Theory of Relativity actually exists (a disappointment, I know, but I’m a communications major and stopped taking science classes after Baby Bio fresh year). However, we are here to thoroughly investigate the most widespread college knowledge (no, not rhyming)—the myth.

One of the most well known and deeply feared college myths are three little words: breaking the seal. As defined by the most elite source of definitions, Urban Dictionary, breaking the seal is “The point at which you first piss after you have been drinking your favorite alcoholic beverage and at this point you will be pissing every ten minutes.”

We’ve all been there. Enjoying a lively round (or 6) of flip cup when all of a sudden, your bladder reminds you that it has a maximum capacity. You try to discreetly excuse yourself to visit the ladies room, but your concerned besties remind you—very loudly—that you can’t break the seal!

So this seal we all desperately protect, does it actually exist? Or is it possible that it’s simply an alcohol-fueled figment of our imagination? I’ve enlisted a panel of urological experts (read: my boyfriend in med school and Google) to figure out if this phenomenon is real.

Apparently, the more jello shots, Natty Lite or vodka tonics you consume, the higher your Blood Alcohol Level (I know, who’d have thunk?) Anywho, all that warm and fuzzy ethanol flooding your system affects certain hormones that your brain produces, like the must “dance now” and “sexy-time” hormones, as well as a hormone called ADH (an anti-diuretic hormone), which helps your body retain water by controlling the amount of urine you make.

Alcohol inhibits ADH, so the more you drink, the more you’ll have to pee. Also, in case you never caught on, alcohol is usually a liquid, and the more liquid you intake, the more you will expel. Breaking the seal has nothing to do with the amount that you’re gonna pee afterward, nor how often nature will call. And if you don’t “break the seal” you will still feel a need to pee anyway, so it’s all sorta the same thing, right?

I know it’s heartbreaking to realize that there is no magical seal built by your first 5 beers, but on the bright side, you won’t feel a twinge of guilt if you decide not to risk a UTI by holding out.

So, the moral of the story is that if you gotta go, you gotta go! Don’t bother holding it, because the more you drink, the more urine your body will produce, and the more frequent your bathroom excursions will be. The best advice I can give you is to re-fill your cup before waiting in line for the bathroom. You won’t waste precious binge-drinking minutes and once you reach the bathroom you’ll kill two birds with one stone. Cheers!

After all, this isn’t just any Tuesday – it’s a holiday! You gotta make things special on a holiday. And the way to make this particular holiday special is by pulling out all the stops when it comes to your cocktails of choice. You could just grab some margartia mix and blend it up for you and the girls, or you could do something totally different and totally tasty that will knock everyone’s socks off. And probably pants.

We scoured the internet to find some pretty cheap and unique Cinco-De-Mayo-worthy margaritas. From chocolate to Jell-O shots, these are cocktails no one will forget. Even on a day devoted to forgetting everything. Click on the image to get the recipe, then do it up. (We highly recommend the Skinny Girl Margarita. It’s low cal and incredibly tasty. We already had one this morning. And, yes, it’s only 10 am.)

Enjoy!

]]> http://collegecandy.com/2009/05/05/fun-margaritas-for-cinco-de-mayo/feed/ 4 ccandystaff jose_cuervo1 margarita-jello avocado-margarita skinny-girl raspberry-margarita chocolate-margarita beer-margarita http://collegecandy.com/2009/03/11/st-patricks-day-drinks-that-arent-green-beer/ http://collegecandy.com/2009/03/11/st-patricks-day-drinks-that-arent-green-beer/#comments Wed, 11 Mar 2009 20:39:02 +0000 Amanda http://www.collegecandy.com/cool-stuff/17095 I love St. Patrick’s Day. I love parades and shamrock stickers and Irish soda bread. I love getting very drunk and being festive on the one day of the year that anyone can be Irish. That being said I do not enjoy getting very drunk off of green beer. Something about green beer feels unnatural to me, like my insides are being coated in that slime from Nickelodeon and frankly the novelty wore off after my first pub crawl when …

I love St. Patrick’s Day. I love parades and shamrock stickers and Irish soda bread. I love getting very drunk and being festive on the one day of the year that anyone can be Irish. That being said I do not enjoy getting very drunk off of green beer. Something about green beer feels unnatural to me, like my insides are being coated in that slime from Nickelodeon and frankly the novelty wore off after my first pub crawl when my tongue stayed green for days.

But what is St. Patrick’s Day without green beverages? Will I be forced to drink average colored beer if I nix the food coloring? Or worse yet, will I get my “Irish and Proud” t-shirt revoked?

Well I’ve got news for whoever wants to go up against this Irish lush – I will not be taken down without a fight! Not while there are plenty of other delicious green concoctions floating around, anyway. So don’t panic, I have some St. Patrick’s day drinks that are just as fun and twice as effective.

The classic Appletini (which I have renamed Apple O’Tini for the sake of St. Patrick’s Day)

1.5 oz of Smirnoff Green Apple Twist Vodka

1 oz DeKuyper Sour Apple Pucker Schnapps

Erin Go Margarita

1.5 oz of Tequila

.5 oz of Triple sec

1 oz Lime juice

Kiss Me I’m Irish (and drunk)

1 oz Midori Melon Liqueur

1 oz Whiskey sour mix

2 oz Sprite

Shamrock Shooter (aka Kamikazee Jello Shots)

1 (6 oz) Package of lime Jello

10 oz Citrus vodka

4 oz Blue Curacao

2 oz Lime Juice

Dissolve Jello in boiling water and add alcohol

Get Lucky Punch

2 (12 oz) cans frozen limeade concentrate

2 (12 oz) cans frozen lemonade concentrate

2 (2 liter) bottles lemon-lime flavored carbonated soda

1 (750 milliliter) bottle rum

2 quarts lime sherbet

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And now, a year has nearly passed, and I am about to turn the big 2-1. It is the day I can not only legally buy alcohol, but the day that all college students look forward to as their last passage into adulthood on campus (at least before senior year). It is the day that I can no longer get sent to student conduct council for underage drinking. The day I can walk up to the bar and order a mojito, legally. I no longer will have to worry about being carded when trying to order a drink somewhere. The day that I turn into a real adult – whatever that means – as decided by the world.

But really, how do I spend this occasion?

In my dream world, I would hire Girl Talk to do live mash-ups of Elton John, Britney Spears, and Guns N Roses while I dance alongside my best friends in dresses that aren’t just from H&M and Forever 21 in some sparkly New York City bar where we throw back pink cocktails in between cupcakes. But I don’t live in a dream world. In fact, I live in Roanoke, Virginia – which is as far from my dream world as I can get for my birthday, especially since there isn’t even a Forever21 of H&M for 60+ miles.

Although the reality of my 21st birthday may not sparkle in a New York City kinda way (however, my nails probably will in a cheap-nailpolish-glittery-concoction type of way), I am not going to let that stop me from having one of the best nights of my college experience. The question of how to do it, though – and not just do it, but do it well – plagues me.

Where do I have my party? In the sketchy upstairs backstage area of my university’s recital hall where I got caught with not one, but two bottles of champagne enwrapped in my arms last year as my friends and I stomped around to Miley Cyrus? What about in my boyfriend’s cheerless off campus house with his awful roommates skipping around the scene? At the bar in a town where college hangs-outs don’t really exist? Or maybe I should just have my party on my computer, testing out Skype for the first time with my friend who went abroad to Argentina? Does location even matter anymore, or is the night just about getting drunk?

Who should come? My close friends or anyone who somehow decides my birthday is important enough via the joke of a Facebook event they received? Do I invite my 18 year old sister and her boyfriend up for the weekend to witness the madness and hope that I keep my dress down (or up) for the night? What if I just invite myself and call it a day? Spending a 21st birthday alone – now that would be interesting.

Should there be a theme? Perhaps College Trainwreck would be appropriate? Afterall, images of Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears circa 2007 make great inspiration! Or should the theme simply be me making an ass out of myself, as if my last birthday wasn’t enough when I decided wearing hot pink tights with a black tunic that wasn’t long enough to stay down was a good idea?

But seriously, when it comes to the sport of turning 21, what is a girl supposed to do?

Should I run into the closest liquor store and declare that it is my birthday? Should I wear my driver’s license on my sleeve and shout out my birthdate: “02/24/1988″ over and over again? Do I wear a plastic tiara and carry in balloons with me just to pick up a bottle of rum or two (or three)?

Do I attempt taking 21 shots? Do I stick to one type of alcohol or jump around until the room spins and I call it a night? Do I invest in a blender to make cocktails, or should I just slap down the money on the bar and tell the bartender to pour me another?

Maybe I should keep it innocent and kick it old-school style. I’m sure I can find some clowns to come make balloon animals and paint butterflies and kittens on my friends’ faces for the same price I may spend on alcohol. Or maybe I could do an assortment of games, including pin the tail on the donkey and balloon races – bubbles and whoopee cushions can replace Jello shots as prizes! I’m sure that would make my mom proud!

I am the first of my friends to turn 21, and I feel that it is my contractual obligation as their friend to start the year off right, birthday-wise. 21 gives the impression of a college milestone, and another passage into adulthood. With so many options and so many high expectations, really … what am I supposed to do?

Now it’s your turn; tell me what you did to celebrate your 21st or how you plan to ring in your own birthday this year. I need ideas, people. Help!

Leave your own overheard convos in the comments.]

Boy: “Hey, you gotta stay here, it’s dicks only.”

Girl: “That’s fine, I didn’t want to come anyway… What?”

“So how much vodka are you supposed to put in a jello shot?”

“All of it.”

“Don’t you know who my father is? Mr. Jonathan Associated-Press?”

“Is he related to Jonathan the Husky?”

After a moment:

“It’s… it’s last names, buddy.”

“Uh-oh. Lookin’ bad down there. Gotta trim the forest. All the little pubic people are gonna die.”

“What do you get when you mix a chainsaw and a brown bear?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s living in my room. Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Can’t talk now. At work. I just got eaten by a giant grouper. Gotta go.”

“I’m going to go through every single flavored coffee I can think of and discuss how I feel about each. Because… it’s Friday night!“

“So – if you get the exams back, and there’s a problem with your grade, you and I and the professor can all meet after class and we will have a threesome. Okay?”

“I have that butts picture that you gave me, and then I have all my female superheroes, and then Marilyn Monroe, and then… Amanda Palmer’s bare breasts. Yup, totally into dudes.”

“You should hang up those vagina trees you drew.”

“Yeah, I should.”

“I sometimes think about how comfortable a womb would be, and then I think – hey. You don’t breathe. And that terrifies me. Even though it would be fun, you know, bouncing around.”

It’s not that I don’t know where time went; it went towards the long class lectures, te bar-hopping, the “Tennis Pros and Golf Hoes” parties, the blizzard sledding (and subsequent frostbite), the jello-shot making, the endless Sex and the City viewings, the random hook-ups, the awkward morning-afters, and the all-day brunch recaps. And while I’ll leave college with amazing memories and textbooks the bookstore refused to take back, I’ll also leave with no idea of what I’m going to do with my life (and how I’m going to afford it.)

So, even though I have an entire semester left, I can’t stop myself from stressing myself into oblivion as I sit in my room with growing anxiety. I WebMD-ed myself to figured out what my problem was and all I came up with was a diagnosis that gave me a month to live. (Sidenote: I have to stop using WebMD.) My mom claims this is normal, my friends are experiencing the same thing, and yet I can’t help asking around for Xanax.

But apparently the health center doesn’t prescribe Xanax as freely as they write out pregnancy diagnoses, so I went with my only other option – blogging – in hopes another senior feels the same way. So every time I have a panic attack about being an adult or a wave of nostalgia that sends me for one last bathroom-tastic meal in the dining hall, I’ll be writing.