Are the red ones Smirnoff?

One life lesson I have learned all too well in my time as a college student is that everything is more enjoyable with a buzz-on. Not just parties and movie nights in the dorm, but class lectures, dates, exams, family reunions…you get the picture. It’s much easier to tolerate old Aunt Ida when she’s spinning a little bit.

But sadly, living buzzed cannot be a constant in my lifestyle, as it leaves me struggling to keep off the freshman 15 (which is really inexcusable since I am a senior). That was until some geniuses invented the best thing to ever happen to humanity: alcohol pills.

Can I get a What What!?

That’s right. Russian scientists have developed a process of changing alcohol into powder, which then gives you the ability to eat it, snort it, or put it in pill form. Now, while you wont find me huffing vodka anytime soon, I do think this pill idea has a nice ring to it.

Not only will I be able to stop fasting all week in preparation of my Friday night binge drinking fest, but I can also spare myself the pain of chugging watered down beer and shots that taste like rubbing alcohol. I’ll also add an extra 2 hours worth of beer pong, table dancing and ridiculous photo shoots to my night with not having to visit the bathroom every 20 minutes or stand in line at the bar every time I need a refill. And I can set up my pre-party playlist without fear of ruining my laptop when drunkenly I spill my pills all over it!

It’s like a dream come true!

The only thing that would make this better is if those same Russians could figure out a way to get a Jimmy John’s Beach Club into pill form so I didn’t have to wait in that line at 2 a.m. on my way home. But until that happens, I’ll totally take a 12 pack of Bacardi pills. Just wash one down (or make it a double) and I’ll have the smoothest Rum and Diet ever.

And why not? Despite the stereotype that college students just eff around playing beer pong for four years straight, being a college student isn’t easy. (And, hello, we play flip cup, too!)

Over at US News, they documented some of the most commonly hated problems about being in college student. And we totally agree: getting closed out of the classes we need brings us to tears (and sends us into a pity binge of wine and nachos) and the boring professors make me want to rip the hair out my head.

But when I got to thinking about it, isn’t college really just one big love/ hate relationship? Sure we complain about a lot of things, but secretly deep down, we find the silver lining.

"The prof will never know I'm gone!"

Big Classes

Hate: Who hasn’t groaned when they walked into the first class of the semester to find 400 other people cramming their way into the lecture hall? How are you supposed to learn anything when you have to battle a sea of hands to ask a question? And your professor will never recognize how brilliant your paper is when he has hundreds of others to read.

Love: As the semester wears on and you decide to sleep though a couple of classes, you start to see the upside. The guy will never notice the empty seat, and attendance doesn’t affect your grade. And if you don’t get to the reading he assigned, it doesn’t really matter because it’s easy to hide out in the back and never get called on.

"Hopefully showing off my boobs will distract him from the fact that my ID says I'm 35."

The Liquor Store

Hate: You walk in and instantly all eyes are on you. They get a kick out of it, really. “Here’s another underage little kiddie coming to get some Mike’s Hard Lemonade for their party.” It’s insulting, and embarrassing. But it’s your turn in the rotation, so you really have no choice. When you get to the register he looks at your crappy ID, then at you, then at your crappy ID. Scared, you explain that you just dyed your hair brown last week and the nose ring is new. Then he scans the $12.99 price tag and asks for $25. He knows you won’t argue, because, let’s be real, he’s doing you the favor here. So you bask in the humiliation and fork it over.

Love: But the minute you step out of the liquor store, vodka in one hand, some wine coolers in the other, you feel the triumphant glow spread through your body. You have an armful of proof that you have successfully purchased booze, and you float back to your dorm. Nothing quite beats that feeling of success, even if it comes at a steep, inflated price.

"I need Jimmy Johns freaky good, freaky fast, freaky right now."

Midterms

Hate: We whine about midterms like it’s our job. Memorize everything we have learned in the last 3 months?! How dare they! We lose a week of our lives we can never get back holed up in the library, and all the flashcards are surely having an adverse affect on our eyesight.

Love: Midterms gives us the excuse to walk around in the sweatpant-Uggs-baggy sweater combo for a week and hold study sessions in Starbucks that inevitably turn into caffeine-fueled gossip hour. Not to mention that midterm snacking is the only time it is socially acceptable to gain five pounds from ordering in food every night. It’s not your fault that you don’t have time to cook and everyone knows that studying and the munchies go together like cheese and greasy breadsticks. Which you are currently eating. By yourself.

Plus, when they’re over you have an excuse to drink your face off for a week straight.

"Hey! Let's all pretend we split the work up evenly even though I'm doing it all!"

Group Projects

Hate: I freakin’ hate group projects. I always seem to end up in the slacker group with the pothead who can’t form complete sentences and the drama queen that has so many other important responsibilities she couldn’t possibly have time to meet up to make a PowerPoint. So what option do you really have? You stay up all night in the library making presentation slides alone, so that your whole group can bask in the glory of you’re A+ work. Yea, it’s annoying.

Love: Then again, it’s ten times easier to speak in front of room full of people when you have three other students by your side. Plus, group projects are usually jokes anyway, and they are never graded as hard as the solo ones. And if it gets me out of writing a paper, I will gladly take two hours to put some pictures and facts in a PowerPoint.

"Maybe rolling in just in time for dinner isn't such a bad idea."

The Final Final Exam

Hate: Life is so unfair! While everyone else in the world is curled up in front of a fire relaxing, buying Christmas gifts, and baking with their families, we get stuck with the last final on the last day of exam week. Again. And to add insult to injury, the dorm cafeteria closed three days ago and we’re forced to walk out in the bitter cold to the only caf that is still serving food. All the way across campus.

Love: But when you call mom to check in, you hear Aunt Ida screeching at Uncle Ed in the background and she’s ordering your little sister to get out the naked baby pictures to show her new boyfriend. Perhaps having to wait until December 23^rd to head home for winter break isn’t the worst thing after all. You get out of having to set the table (which your mom insists on doing a week ahead of time) and you aren’t forced to sit and listen to Grandpa Jack’s war stories for the hundredth time.

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.

Ah, the Freshman 15. This popular legend has spawned books on prevention, magazine articles in every Back-to-School issue of any teen magazine, and whispered reminders to your BFF as she’s eyeing that 3^rd helping of French toast in the dining hall.

But does this phenomenon really exist? We’ve all gone home for Thanksgiving Break and seen that one friend who unfortunately succumbed to the Freshman 15; but what about your ex who still looks exactly the same (dammit!)? And the girl who got seriously in- shape? (I know paying for my own food was the best diet I ever went on). The Freshman 15 can’t be this metabolic death sentence we’re all doomed to once we start our higher education, right?

Right. A recent study demonstrated that over a period of 7 months, a group of 125 freshmen gained an average of 2.7 lbs.—not 15. Even more good news? Only half the students surveyed gained weight at all; 1/3^rd maintained their starting weight and 15% lost weight.

Another study, done at Cornell, showed that Cornell freshmen gain only 4 lbs on average during their first year.

Thanks to a slight tendency to over exaggeration, this weight gain morphed into the mythical Freshman 15 we’ve all been warned about. While 2.7 or even 4 lbs sounds like nothin’ compared to a whopping extra 15 lbs. added, those pounds do add up, and if weight gain continues at the same rate, obesity could be a dangerous reality. And, compared to the rest of the population (aka those not playing beer pong and ordering pizza til 3 am on Tuesdays), freshmen gained 6 times more weight.

So while the Freshmen 15 may not be entirely true, the lifestyle changes that come with becoming a freshmen can definitely result in weight gain. So to avoid the Freshman 2.7 (4 if you go to Cornell, sorry!), pay attention to portion size, take advantage of your campus’s gym (or scenic jogging paths), stay away from late night snacking (put down the Jimmy John’s menu!) and remember, 12 fluid ounces of Natty Lite = 95 calories, so go easy on the keg stands.

No matter how crazy you think your personal situation is, it is not just you. So, let’s bring it all out in the open. Right here. Because you are not alone - we’ve all been there before.]

Oh what a night.

From the pre-party to the bar to waking up next to that that kid from your Psych lecture, it was a good one. A great one. A night that is meant to be shared. A night that is meant to be remembered. A night that requires your roommates’ pictures to help in the remembering.

But, man do you feel like hell this morning. You wake up, throw on some sweats (and throw the boy out), and head down to the kitchen for a much-needed bottle of Gatorade. It’s early – you never can sleep in after a long night of drinking – so you tip toe through the house.

When you stumble down the steps, though, you hear some commotion in the kitchen. You round the stairs and smack into 5 of your roommates, coffee and toast in hand, waiting for you on the couch. Apparently they can’t sleep in either.

One of the girls hands you a mug of coffee. Oh sweet bliss.

Everyone is still wearing their makeup from the night before, which only complements the giant black circles under their eyes. As you sit down and start sipping on your coffee, your 6th roommate walks into the house, still wearing her tube top and trouser jeans from the night before. Her heels are in her hand. Her neck is covered in hickeys.

You notice a pile of cameras on the table. Next to them, empty shot glasses and dried up lime wedges. The thought of tequila shots sends shivers down your spine as you flash back to the night before.

“So….” One of your roommate’s looks to you for your story. And so it begins.

You regale your roommates with tales of your late night adventures: how you started talking to the boy, the line you used to get him to come home with you (“I got some new sheets…”), and how good (or bad) his skills were in the bedroom. You give them every little detail – the kind of stuff you can only share with these girls – in between much needed gulps of coffee.

Then it’s your roommate’s turn to share her stories. And then the next.

You all pass the cameras around, filling in the gaps and holes of the evening. You laugh at the 1,276 selfies you took, the videos that you thought were pictures and the gross guys that tried hitting on everyone at the bar. You compare late-night eating horror stories (“So that’s where all my cream cheese went??”), and make fun of the late-comer who is still wearing her bar outfit.

“I mean, really, who the hell still gives hickeys?!”

Before you know it, it is 3pm, you are all still sitting around in your PJs, and you know way more about some random dude’s kissing abilities than you ever thought you should. You order in some Jimmy Johns or pizza or greasy Chinese and spend the rest of the day chilling on the couch until it’s time to get up, get ready and do it all again.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. The morning-after recap is the best.

So, let’s bring it all out in the open. Right here. Because you are not alone - we’ve all been there before.]

Hugging the Bowl:

You started the evening out with the girls and a few shots of vodka to the tune of Bon Jovi blaring from the stereo. Then you moved onto the party, where you couldn’t not play 10 rounds of flip cup, followed by a game of beer pong. You were feeling good – really good – so you decided to give into the boys and do a keg stand.

After all, you had to show them what you’re made of.

When your feet are firmly back on the ground it hits you: you are totally f**ked up. The room is spinning, the floor is rocking and all you can think about is getting home and dying.

But you don’t want anyone to think you are a wimp (because you’re not!), so you pull one of the girls aside and whisper, “I’m tired. I think I’m gonna go,” which comes out more like, “I’m <hiccup> tiiiired. I <hiccup> mthink I’mgomna <vurp> go.” Your friend offers to go with you.

You stumble home, run straight to the bathroom and strip down to your bra and underwear. Your friend brings you water in the bathroom as you crouch over the toilet and start spitting into the bowl. Your knees hurt already, but you are not leaving the bathroom until you puke, dammit.

Your head hurts. You feel like hell. You are never EVER drinking again. Please God, you pray, if you let me make it through tonight I will never drink this much again. Please god. PLEASE. I swear. No more alcohol. Ever.

And at that moment, you mean it.

You keep spitting into the toilet, opening your mouth and willing something other than saliva to come out. You try pulling the trigger (hey, it works for bulimics!), chugging water, or anything else that just might bring up all that beer.

You give up hope, grab the garbage can and begin to head back to your room when – YES! – it comes. Lots and lots of it. Beer, vodka, and the Jimmy Johns #6 you scarfed down for dinner. Vomiting has never felt so good. You welcome the heaves, celebrate the bile, and as quickly as it started you are done.

You are sweating. There are tears in your eyes, but sweet Jesus you feel great.

You pour yourself a glass of water, brush your teeth, grab the garbage can and head to your room where you quickly pass out.

When you wake up in the morning you feel great, and after some scrambled eggs and toast you are ready to hit the bottle again.

Come back next week for more moments of misery that we can all share. Like all those damn drunk texts.

Last weekend the biggest man whore on campus asked me to go home with him. My first reaction was, “Hell yeah! HE KNOWS WHO I AM…and he wants to do me!!!” Which was immediately followed by, “Ew, do I have to get tested for STDs cuz he just talked to me!?”

I said no that night (and by “said no” I mean “spent the rest of the night on the bathroom floor vomiting up Jimmy Johns and Jameson”), but I have been thinking about it ever since. I mean, we are Facebook friends now, so the opportunity is obvi still there.

I have always been a big fan of pro/con lists, so I am going to make one here. So, here it is: The Pros and Cons of Hooking Up With a Major Man Whore. I hope this helps if you are ever presented with such a conundrum.

Pro: He is obviously totally wanted by every girl ever

Con: He has put his penis into a whole lot of ladies

Pro: He, in theory, knows what he’s doing – he’s gotten enough practice

Con: He’s never really had a consistent partner so he may be repeating his mistakes over and over and over again.

Pro: He finds me sexy

Con: He has found 98% of the campus sexy at one point

Pro: Potentially awesome sex

Con: Potentially itchy rash… down there

Pro: If he’s bad, I can be the one to tell the world

Con: If I’m bad, he’s totally gonna have a billion people to compare it to…and tell

Pro: I can tell everyone that I conquered Mount Man Whore.

Con: After I tell everyone, they will judge me for being yet another notch on his tattered belt.

It looks like the cons far outweigh the pros. But maybe I missed something? Like the fact that I’ve been experiencing at 3 month dry spell and am thisclose to humping a desk!?

I loved the idea of anonymity and the fact that I could meet a random guy and never have to see him again. It was a sense of freedom I had never quite experienced and one I decided to take full advantage of.

Then I learned one very important lesson: random hook ups in college do not exist.

One particular weekend I went home with a very nice lookin’ boy. He was in a fraternity that none of my friends were in/associated with, which was extremely appealing. We bunked up at his place, had a grand ole time and ended things the next morning with the obligatory phone number exchange (which I immediately removed upon arriving home… I didn’t plan on seeing him again, so why tempt myself during an inevitable drunk dialing situation?).

The following weekend, while out with some friends, we ran into some guys I didn’t know. I started pourin’ on the charm with the cutest of the bunch and we really hit it off. We ended up back at his place chowin’ down on some Jimmy John’s when his roommate came home and began regaling us with stories from his night…

Including one about my man friend from last weekend.

Turns out they were best friends. Hang out all the time. And, in fact, were having a joint birthday party the following weekend. Did I want to come? It was gonna be awesome! I haaaave to be there.

What were the chances? My school had 30,000 undergrads! These guys weren’t in the same fraternity or in the same year in school! How the hell did they know eachother?!

I left the next morning and returned home to tell my roommates about the not-so-random guy I met expecting them to sympathize. Instead, I was faced with faces full of shock. Turns out that the guy from the night before also happened to have just broken up with our next-door neighbor and a mutual friend of ours was in love with him.

WTF?

It turned out that not only were my hook-ups not so random, but actually became the talk of the town. (Note: This is even worse if the guy is ugly…careful with those beer goggles, girls!) I couldn’t avoid the stories…or the boys. They were suddenly everywhere I went – in my classes, at the bar, at UHS when I went there to stock up on my birth control….

I learned the hard way that college campuses feel like huge places, but it only takes a little time (and some late nights) to make them very, very small. Beware, ladies, of the random hookups. They are never what they seem.

[Photo courtesy of collegeotr.com]