I went to a house party.
And I’m alive to tell the story!

It had been about 2 years since attending my last house party and while standing amongst a large cluster of shirtless freshman dudes sweating and spinning their shirts in the air to the beat of Sean Kingston, I realized something. I am no rocket scientist (clearly, on account of my next statement), but house parties so different than the bar. You would think they would be the same – drunk people standing around – but there’s something (maybe it’s the open keg at house parties that encourages half-naked mosh pits in the living room?) that sets these two party scenes miles apart:

House Party: Unlimited alcohol. This means kegs to tap, red cups to grab, and Evian bottles filled with…er….not water….to pull out of your purse and pass around. There is no doubt the blood alcohol level is averaging significantly higher than any established place on campus.  It is just that much easier to get tipsy at a house party, and stay tipsy not remember a minute of your night.
Bar: $10 dollars for a Long Island? How to people expect anyone to get drunk around here if you have to pay your left leg for a watered down rail drink? And everyone is so busy standing in line for the bathroom (thanks to those melted ice cubes), no one really has time to get rowdy.

House Party: House parties make clothes come off. Seriously, I don’t know if it is the 80 games of beer pong or the overly crowded, steamy living room, but before you know it, guys are whipping their shirts off and dancing like their late night hook up depends on it.
Bar: Maybe it has something to do with the law (no shirt, no pants, no watered-down vodka tonic?), but the clothes aren’t coming off.

House Party: Conversations usually don’t span past drunken chants of “CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!”
Bar: Semi-intellectual conversations abound: “So…what’s your major?” and “OMG, look at the line for the bar.”

House Party: One minute everyone’s standing around looking for the one person they know, the next every girl in the room is wearing a guy’s piece of clothing, be it a flat brimmed hat or their jersey they tore off mid-50 Cent chorus. It’s getting hot in herrrre, so put on someone else’s clothes?
Bar: Again, getting nakey in the bar is just not OK. Especially according that that very big bouncer staring angrily at you across the room.

House Party: All you need is a flash of a smile and the big dude with the bigger muscles will pump that ice cold beer into your Solo cup, no matter how many times you ask.  (Editor’s Note: is it just me, or does that sound gross?)
Bar: After you stand behind a crowd of bar drinkers (seriously, can’t they just get their drink and go?!), elbow your way to the front and literally wave your cash in the air until that “hot” bartender in the low-cut top glances your way, you get an overpriced rum and Diet that tastes too much like diet and not enough like rum.

House Party: Three letters: P.D.A.
Bar: Two words: bathroom stall.

Honestly, it’s like a whole different world out there in House Party-ville and I’m not sure if I love or hate it. Or if I even really remember it. Or who’s lacrosse jersey I slept in last night. All I know is campus party destinations are most definitely not created equal.

After four outfit changes, 3 drinks and two near faceplants on the sidewalk (thank you, heels), you finally make it to the party. You’ve got a good buzz going, and an even greater cleavage situation thanks to Victoria and her secrets.

You push your way through the throngs of people, looking for some booze your friends. You stop and do the “Heeyyyyy!” with some people you know along the way, but keep things moving in the direction of the keg calling your name in the corner of the kitchen.

You grab a cup (of the red Solo variety) and get in line. The guy ahead of you is filling three cups – and also happens to be quite attractive – so you offer to help him out a bit. Soon you’re pumping the tap as he fills his cups, sharing a laugh at the drunk girl grinding against the fridge’s expense. He waits with you while you fill your own cup, then the two of you walk together into the living room where his friends are.

You spend the next 30 or so minutes drinking beer and talking. And by “talking” I mean “screaming over the ‘Party Hardy Mix’ blasting out of the giant speaker your beer is resting on.” (Note: how anyone can refer to the mix as “party hardy” when it has not one but two Miley Cyrus songs on it is beyond me.)

When a spot opens up at the beer pong table, you guys hop in. After a few games you are feeling a whole lotta drunk…which only fuels your desire to dance when some old school Jay-Z starts rockin’ out of the speakers.

“Oh My God! I LOVE this song!!” You grab some of your friends and run to the dance floor. You’re dancing in a circle (Read: facing each other belting out the lyrics) when you feel someone come up behind you. The boy wraps his hands around your waist and starts swaying back and forth behind you. Still singing to your friends, you sway along with him, getting a little more seductive with each left-to-right movement.

He moves his hands up and down your thighs. You push your butt out a little more.

When the song changes, he pulls you in a little closer. You give your friends the look, seductively pull your hair out of your eyes and turn around to face him.

Clutching your beer, you wrap your hands around his shoulders while he not-so-slyly positions himself so one of his legs is between yours. He continues to do the sway/grind, his hands moving ever so slowly towards your butt. You accidentally spill beer down his back. He doesn’t notice; he pulls you in closer. Neither of you is looking at the other.

Eventually you both look up. Your eyes meet. Then so do your lips.

You’re still swaying as you kick off your makeout session, but that soon changes to more of a grind. After awhile, you stop moving all together and simply stand in the middle of the room making out while people dance around you. You hear a lot of “Oooooh!” and “Get a ROOM!” Not that any of that registers.

Your focus: kissing the boy.

Things start getting pretty heated and when his hands start wondering up your shirt, you pull away. You give him the “What do you think you’re doing!?” look and giggle. Reality settles back in and you attempt to come back to the moment. You scan the dance floor for your friends who are nowhere to be found.

“I’ll be back,” you tell the boy. “I gotta go find my friends.”

The boy puts up a fight, but you pull away. You don’t really want to continue making out in front of an entire party, but even more, you gotta ask your friends what they think of your makeout buddy.

It’s OK, we’ve all been there. Making out in dark corners is what college parties are for, right?

[It doesn’t matter what school you go to, what state it is in, how big it is, whether it is public or private, all girls or coed…there are experiences that all college students share.

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.]

Your friend from class invites you to a party. Looking for a change of social scenery (there are only so many days in a row that you can play Kings with the same 6 people), you go. It’s a whole new social circle and you are excited to see what else your campus has to offer.

While waiting in line for the keg, you start chatting it up with a rather handsome man (in a pair of hot jeans…yes, you looked). Turns out, he’s also funny, charming, and has this cute little dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. You spend a good chunk of the night talking, but then the keg runs out and your friend drags you out of the house in search of greener (or boozier) pastures.

So now you have left the party….without his number.

The night progresses in a blur of flip cup, party hopping, and a hazy memory of peeing in a sink. When you wake up, you feel like crap – and also have an empty Tupperware that once housed you roommate’s mom’s homemade cookies next to your bed. You lay in bed attempting to put the pieces of the night together when – BAM – the Keg Cutie comes flooding into your mind.

You have to figure out who he is. You slowly crawl out of bed, realize you are naked and put on some sweats, then settle in in front of your laptop. First stop: trusty ole’ FB, of course.

You look up your class friend and then scroll through all 787 of her friends until you find Keg Cutie’s tiny thumbnail pic. Lucky for you, he hasn’t hopped on the “total FB privacy” bandwagon yet and you have full access to his profile. You tell yourself you are just trying to get a last name so you can send a cute and witty email, but before you know it you are memorizing his favorite movies, class schedule and causes.

“I wonder if he’s as cute as I remember,” you think. “I’ll just look at a few pics.”

Thirty minutes and 453 pictures later, you are looking at the profile and albums of that hussy who was in at least 70 of his pics with him.   You convince yourself she is an ex (“the albums she was in were added in 2007, so they can’t still be together!”) and feel a little better.

You realize that you and Keg Cutie have a few other friends in common and work your way through FB to figure out the connections. Not that you want to show up wherever he may be…. No, you are just curious.

When you’ve exhausted all Facebook resources, you stop caring about how stalkerish you’ve become and look the boy up on your University’s database (to see where he’s living, perhaps?) and Google (to check out his past).

By 3pm, you know more about Keg Cutie than you know about your own family members. Like the fact that he lives in the dorm next to you. You decide maybe it’s time to start dining in a different cafeteria… and putting on makeup to do so. Maybe you’ll check out their study lounges too. And you’re sure you have a few friends in there you can start hanging out with again…

I mean, that’s not weird, is it?

Well, yes, it is. But we’ve all been there and it’s not our fault; Facebook makes it too easy!

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.]

It’s Friday (or Saturday, Sunday…or any day that ends in “y”) and you are gonna hit the town with the ladies. You crack a beer and sip it in front of your closet as you figure out which low cut top and jeans to wear. The stereo in your room is blasting a little Lady Gaga to get you in the mood. Once you are dressed and properly accessorized, you gather your friends together for a little pre-party dance party.

Soon it’s time to go, so you throw on your favorite pair of going-out stilettos and make your way to the party. They aren’t comfortable, but you convince yourself that by the time they start hurting you will be too drunk to notice.

You walk to the party, holding hands with your BFF and having the “I love you so much” conversation that only happens when you are 3-4 drinks in. Upon arriving at the gathering, you make your way to the keg and fill up your red Solo cup. And the night officially begins.

There is dancing, there is drinking, there are laps around the room to see just which cute boys you may want to flirt with.

And then the pain sets in.

As you stand in a corner chatting it up with a friend of a friend of a friend, your baby toe starts to feel as though it is going to fall off. You switch your weight to the other foot. And then back to that foot.

You dig your heels into the ground and attempt to push your foot back in the shoe. You lean to the right and slip your left foot out of the pump. You try to drink a bit more to numb the pain.

But each attempt only offers momentary relief.

You can think of nothing else but the pain; nothing the cute boy is saying is registering. All your attention is focused on finding a band-aid or some place to sit. Too bad this party doesn’t have toilet paper, let alone benches for resting your aching tootsies.

You consider taking off your shoes completely before looking at the beer soaked floor and thinking better of it. You’ll just have to deal.

And you do. You sort of hop/hobble around the party, pausing frequently to readjust your feet in the shoes. You curse yourself for not opting for flats when you had the chance.

When it is finally time to head home, you wonder if you’ll even make it. Sometimes, if your friends also made unfortunate shoe choices, you can convince everyone to hop in a cab (even if that cab ride is 3 blocks). Usually, though, you are forced to suck it up and limp home in pain, 20 yards behind everyone

else because you can’t move any faster.

You kick the shoes off as soon as you get in the door – or, if it’s bad enough, as soon as you can see your door in the distance – and rub your ailing feet. The blisters have already formed and will probably plague you for a week. You swear you are never going to wear those things again, but you know that’s not true. They look so good with your skinnies and make your legs look a mile long.

Those blisters will clear up in time for next weekend. And then you’ll do it all again.

You’ve finally moved out of the dorms, and it just so happens that your new diggs are the perfect place to throw a party. No RA’s, no quiet hours, no cramming 50 people into your tiny dorm and trying to have a dance party. Sweet!

Throwing a party might seem like a no-brainer. Still, you have make sure all of your bases are covered, or you’ll find people trickling out before midnight, hoping to catch another bigger, better party before the sun comes up and the night is a complete bust.

If you want to throw the party of the year–the one people are still talking about at graduation, the one people are still talking about at the reunion–just take heed of these simple cardinal rules.

1. Spread the Word Like Wildfire.

Don’t just mention it to your lab partner. Don’t put up an away message saying “Party tonight! Come on over!” There’s plenty of parties to choose from on campus, so you want yours to be the one everyone’s talking about.

Create a Facebook event. Make fliers and wallpaper your apartment complex. Interrupt your Criminology lecture by screaming, “Let’s F–KING RAGE!” Okay, that one might be going to far, but figure out what methods of advertising will work best for you, and do ‘em twice.

2. Find a Gimmick.

Like I said, there’s probably a lot of options on campus on a Saturday night, whether it’s another party or a great bar special. A gimmick will not only attract partygoers, but it will help them remember your party. The “gimmick” can be anything from a crazy theme party to a simple keg party (seriously, throw the word “keg” in there, and people will flock, arms outstretched and tongues hanging out, like a scene from Night of the Living Dead). Toga parties, Pimps and Hoes parties, and Graffiti parties all sound more interesting than “Party in 5C – BYOB.” Am I right?

You can also think of random things to celebrate to get people talking. It’s also a good way to guilt trip guests into “stopping by,” at which point, they will see how much fun your party is and immediately blow off whatever party they were en route to in the first place. Twenty-first birthdays are a classic example. Everyone has to stop by to wish you well. My twenty-first was so successful that I’ve had one every year since, and the “2nd Annual 21st Birthday Bash” and “3rd Annual 21st Birthday Bash” were also smashing.

3. “Entertainment” Does Not Mean Your IPod on a Speaker.

Music is essential, but there’s more to a party than your Flo Rida megamix blaring for six hours straight. Setting up different “activities” will keep people interested, and make more people float through the party, and mingle, and… oh yeah, drink more. Set up beer pong in the backyard and flip cup in your kitchen. Spring for an ice luge so your guests don’t get bored waiting for their turn at beer pong. Announce a shotgun contest, a kegstand contest, or some other ridiculous competition just after you’ve hit full capacity and the buzz starts to creep in.

It’s also a good idea to have a low-key game going on when the party starts to alleviate any awkward “I’m-the-first-person-here-and-this-isn’t-really-a-party” vibes when the very first partiers trickle in to an empty house. I suggest a card game like Kings. Everyone can play, everyone drinks a lot, and by the time you’ve all done your second or third waterfall, you’ll slam your cups on the table and look up to see that somehow a few dozen bodies have appeared in your living room, and the party is officially ON.

4. Don’t Spend All of Your Efforts on Booze.

Yes, people will be coming to your party to drink. But just because you’ve stocked your liquor cabinet doesn’t mean your work is done. When people drink, they get hungry. So plan on supplying some food. If it’s an all-day party, have a barbecue or order some sandwich platters. If it’s a typical Saturday Night banger, stock up on carbs and starches in the form of potato chips, tortilla chips, and pretzels. Ordering a couple of sheet pizzas or a few dozen wings will never be unappreciated. If you are providing liquor, grab some mixers. Even if you aren’t providing liquor, it’s nice to have juice or soda on hand for your guests.

While you’re stocking up on munchies, run through the paper goods aisle of the grocery store, and buy a surplus of solo cups, paper towels, garbage bags, and toilet paper. Who knows how many people will run through your bathroom throughout the course of the evening, and you definitely don’t want drunk people using your bath towels when they can’t find toilet paper. Likewise, you want paper towels on hand for spilled beer, whether you soak it up during the party or the next morning.

If you are particularly meticulous, you might make sure that your medicine cabinet is stocked with bandages, in case of drunken injuries, or even rubber gloves, in case of vomit.

5. When You Think You Have Enough Booze, Buy More.

The cardinal rule of throwing a party is always overestimate when it comes to alcohol. When the well runs dry, the party’s over. If you are throwing a keg party, consider the beer measurements:

A “keg” is actually a half-barrel, and holds 15.5 gallons of beer. A quarter-barrel (usually referred to as a half-keg) is less than three 30-racks of beer. So, if you have one half-barrel at your party, you’ll get about 124 US pints, or 16 oz. beers, out of it. That will feed about 20 people 6 beers each.

While it’s not necessarily your responsibility to provide all of the alcohol for all of your guests, you may also want to consider picking up some liquor for the non-beer drinkers, or just to shake things up a bit once the party starts raging. Pizza is a win-win in the food category, and jungle juice will never do you wrong when it comes to stocking up on liquor.

Depending on how much alcohol you want to provide personally, you can always charge for cups, or ask for donations to help fund the shindig. But, even if you’re weary about splurging on a few kegs, or making your own mini-bar, just remember: if anything’s leftover, you can always drink it later.

Creepy Adult Excitement Over High School Musical 3.

All the reviews are positive. Everyone’s raving over it. And grown ass women are holding in depth discussions about Zac Efron’s facial hair (or lack thereof). I understand that the kids who fell in love with HSM 3 years ago have gotten older and that the movie is “growing up” to cater to them, but that’s the point: Disney made it for seniors in high school—not the hosts of the Daily 10, not for my mom (who has already purchased tickets in advance) and not for me (although I do love me some Corbin Bleu).

The bottom line is that this movie is about high school, so high schooler’s should be the ones counting the days until its release. When Disney can find a way to wholesomely portray coed life while incorporating schnazzy dance numbers with synchronized keg stands, I’ll be the first one at the box office.

Yet Another Reason to Hate Flying.

As if there weren’t enough things to worry about when hurtling through the air in a giant chunk of metal with no easy access to (or knowledge of how to operate) a parachute, I now need to prepare for incidents that could occur pre-takeoff. In Chicago, a plane collided with a pickup truck on the runway. I think it’s safe to say that the truck driver is slightly more responsible in this situation. I mean, A) how did you miss the enormous freaking AIRPLANE blocking your path, and b) WHY were you in a pickup truck on the tarmac? This just makes no sense to me, but as bad as a backseat driver (and passenger) as I was before, you better believe I’ll be second guessing a smooth takeoff the next time I board a plane.

The economy f*cking every. single. industry.

So far I’ve come through this recession/crisis/Armageddon unscathed. Luckily, I really haven’t been hurting in any obvious ways (not that I had much money to lose, or many expenses that would take a toll on my poor college lifestyle). But I finally am starting to worry: TV has been affected. I mean, the industry is pretty resilient; they even survived running shows without anyone to write them, but the news has been announced that NBC is trimming the fat--$5 million worth of fat. Jeff Zucker, CEO, is looking for ways to cut staff and other expenses. All I know is that I need me some quality NBC sitcom to lift me out of my monetary funk…and if anything happens to The Office all hell will break loose.

John Mccain’s Apparent State of Delusion.

So, despite the fact that Obama is OWNING Mccain in the race for the white house thus far, Johnnie still thinks that “things are headed [his] way.” Really? What things might you be speaking of? A landslide loss in an historical election? A sad realization that you were simply a filler candidate for the Republican party? A HUGE increase in your taxes once your opponent is elected? Because, yeah, I can see those things headed in your direction. Maybe that SNL skit revolving around your imaginary BFF, Joe the Plumber, is spot on regarding your mental stability…

Haters.

No one likes a hata. Especially when said hata is hatin’ on someone for a ridic reason….which is most of the time. Specifically this week, though, those hatin’ on women for their body type or size is particularly whack. When the tabs aren’t blowing up bikini pics of pregnant women to circle their cellulite, they’re hurling accusations of eating disorders at stars they deem too thin. Seriously? It’s kind of common decency not to criticize real women who are “too fat,” but at what point did it become okay to label anyone under 115 lbs as anorexic? Celebs are living, breathing human beings. Yes, it is part of their job to stay in good shape (and they get paid enough to afford those pricey trainers and nutritionists), but it’s social responsibility to discontinue the degrading and emotionally scarring descriptions that are printed about famous women. Set a positive example for the way that real women are portrayed and talked about.

Whew! Venting makes me feel much better. Now it’s your turn… 

Excited, rushing conversation, behind a closed door:

“And then this guy… he just, like, whipped out a trombone! And then some other guy just pulled out a harmonica! And then… and then someone had to do his laundry!”

A girl, holding up a bottle of vodka: “It’s my dildo! The best kind – the kind that has alcohol in it.”

Two girls arguing at a party:

“I’m gonna punch your cock off!”

“I don’t have a cock!”

“I wish you did – so I could punch it off!”

A dude walks into an apartment, carrying a keg.

“Wait,” asks another guy. “Is that, like, for drinking?”

“Nah, I think I’m gonna bathe in it, first. Hey, is that pizza? Maybe I’ll rub that all over my body while I’m at it.”

A girl at the library, in the stacks, as loudly as possible: “Listen. So then I talked to my doctor, and then my gynecologist, and he put me on birth control – but he says I still need to use condoms when I’m f***ing my boyfriend, because I might get syphilis! I know, right?”

Guy in the hallway, banging on a door: “Hey! You! You think you can just live in my building? Fuck you! Here’s my nipple!

“The Rescuers Down Under? Oh, that movie was so cool!”

“I know, right? It was crazy. I think I definitely developed some kind of weird medical bondage thing, though.”

“Yeah, who even thinks of that? Like, were the writers sitting around, like, ‘Yeah, it’s pretty good, but I really think it needs a rectal torture scene.’”

If you watched the VP debate last night you heard a lot about Sarah Palin’s BFF, Joe Six Pack. But who is he? What does he like? What does he do?

We don’t know Joe Six Pack personally (though we have hooked up with his cousin, Mark Quarter Barrel…who could not keep it up), but we imagine he’d be something like this:

Description:

5’11, brown hair, brown eyes, some sort of facial hair, big hands and a tattoo of some sort (possibly his kids’ initials) on his upper arm. No actual six pack to be seen behind the slight beer belly hanging over the top of his ill-fitting denim.

Likes:

Beer (most likely Natty Ice and PBR), Nascar, cars with big engines, girls with big boobs, Sundays spent watching football, red meat, keg stands, tobacco, lawn chairs, American flag apparel, Levi’s, the missionary position, pepperoni pizza, boys’ weekends full of beer and conversations about women with big boobs, the Bible, those giant turkey leg things you get at the fair, classic rock, leather vests and “that hot lady who is always with John McCain.”

Dislikes:

Books, politics, vegetables, flowers, people who don’t approve of burping/farting in public, organic anything, beverages that are non alcoholic, women’s sports, and feminists.

How to woo him:

Beer, boobs and talk of WWE. That is, of course, if you have any interest in wooing him.

But why wouldn’t you?

You check your phone, and see that you dialed your ex at 1:34, your best friend at 1:52 (which is weird, because you went to the bar together), an unknown number at 2:04, and someone called “Tattoo Joe,” a name that wasn’t in your directory yesterday afternoon, at 4:23. You immediately call your BFF, and ask the question aloud: “What happened last night?”

Blacking out probably dates back to the birth of alcohol, but it has long baffled doctors, psychologists, and college students. Why does that one last drink put you over the edge, and erase hours worth of memories? Why is it pretty much impossible to tell when you’re having a conversation with someone who is currently experiencing a blackout? Britain’s Telegraph recently reported that the reason why people forget the embarrassing things they do when they are drunk has been discovered.

The article’s opening statement reads, “Research at the University of Sussex has found that alcohol influences the brain’s ability to form memories, making memories before a drink stronger and memories of things that happen while under the influence weaker.” Um… it took them until 2008 to figure this out?

While I found that statement quite obvious, I kept reading, hoping that they might have also discovered a cure for blacking out. Besides sobriety, that is. Apparently, these Sussex researchers hypothesize that “while a drinker may remember the happy events such as socialising with friends at the start of a drinking session, they are less able to recall the negative effects that happen later in the night.”

I have several problems with the above statement. First of all, if memories before a drink are stronger anyway, it seems that it’s a given that the start of the boozefest, happy or not, will be more memorable than the end, happy or not. Second of all, there are plenty of happy things that personally I don’t remember, and tons of negative memories that I wish I could suppress.

Case in point: I cannot, for the life of me, remember a serious conversation I had with this guy two weeks ago. All I know is that I must have said the right things, because I spent the night. On the other hand, I most certainly remember trying to hit on him again last weekend, and being completely rejected.

Case in point number 2: Everyone insists I had a great time at my end-of-the-summer keg party. Apparently I was laughing, dancing, and being a fairly-well-behaved social butterfly. Instead of my brain holding onto these happy memories, I only remember the part of the night where I was dry-heaving behind my house after a 20-second kegstand.

I think this study is full of holes. The researchers also claim that “people are more likely to drink heavily the next time they go out because they only remember the good memories about the last time.” I beg to differ. I hate not remembering. Even if I had a great time early in the night, not remembering how the night ended usually makes me simmer down for a little while (sometimes a very little while, but hey, I’m trying).

After a night of heavy drinking, even the memories before the sh*tshow can feel skewed and foggy. Did we have that conversation before or after the shots of Cabo Wabo? Wasn’t I a dancing machine even before I played my first game of beer pong? Even after a night of “light” drinking, certain details can easily slip one’s mind.

While I certainly agree that alcohol impairs the brain, and thus the brain’s ability to form new memories, I don’t think there are underlying psychological reasons (embarrassment, heartache, anger) that add to the likelihood of experiencing a blackout.

Of course, I’m no scientist. But I could be a guinea pig.

Saturday night: You’re at a frat party. You just won three consecutive games of beer pong. You don’t think twice about drinking your cups, despite the fact that you’ve seen the ball land in other peoples’ used cups, roll along the basement floor, and watched the ball pass between thirty-something unwashed hands.

What gives?!?

Obviously, beer pong isn’t the most sanitary party game out there. But you have the “water cup,” right? That cup of tepid, dirty water is totes gonna disinfect that old, recycled ping pong ball (that was most likely found under someone’s bed 10 minutes before party time). Or not.

Some microbiology students at George Washington University decided to test exactly how detrimental to your health beer pong can be. If you like beer pong, you may want to skip this article.

After a somewhat mild night of beer pong, consisting of eight students and thirty beers, the budding scientists collected samples from each of the beer pong cups and the water cup. What’d they find? A haven for germs. Bacteria from the E. Coli, salmonella, and pneumonia families were present in every single test tube containing samples from the game. Oh, and that water cup that everyone used to clean the balls? That was the most infected, and housed the most bacteria growth over night.

This study centered on beer pong only, but what about other potentially sickening games? When’s the last time you did a kegstand, putting your mouth on the tap that’s been who-knows-where after a dozen other people slurped down a few seconds worth of brew? How about the time you stood in for flip cup, and rotated through other peoples’ cups round after round?

We put our mouths everywhere when there’s cheap beer involved (and some of us really put our mouths everywhere), but we’re super cautious about where we place our ASS when we’re in a public place? Just some food for thought.

Not that you have to quit beer pong — hell, no! To be just a tad cleaner, change out the water cups and beer pong balls throughout the night, and keep your own beer cup to drink out of after the ball hits (just dump the shot’s worth of beer into your own cup).

Alcohol is bad enough for your immune system; don’t give germs a better opportunity to take up residence in your body.