I was feeling a little rebellious this past weekend, a little adventurous. So, I took a challenge and stepped out of my comfort zone by reacquainting myself with my freshman year of college. No, I didn’t make out with a dude on a futon, and no I didn’t burn my Easy-Mac in the microwave and induce a 4:30 AM fire alarm.

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: Read More »

Everyone in college can recall their “worst night” (the night they end up passed out in a pile of woodchips, or walking home at 8AM with a banana costume on), but unfortunately for us, all four of my roommates had ours on the same night.

It was a brisk fall evening, my roommates and I were fully stocked on booze, and there was a very lovely and crowded double kegger down the street. We didn’t even need to get a taxi to get there!  This night was looking good. Only, in reality, the night was a recipe for pure destruction: two of us were recently single, and the other two were well-seasoned single ladies who’d had a long week of studying.  Excited, we each pounded five drinks before even leaving the house.

Upon arriving, we already thought we were the best dancers in the universe and we were feeling pretty good about the previously (now about seven) consumed drinks.  The party was full of cute college boys and girls we knew, the music was loud and, 99% of the time, we were raising the roof and having the “epic night” we had planned for.  The drinking ensued.

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Now that Kate’s not around, he has a chance to say something.

Whose high school pics are these?

Best and worst schools for a kegger.

What is ear candling?

Sandra Bullock looks super fine on the cover of Glamour.

WTF is Joe Jonas doing?

Colleges are like miniature civilizations. Many universities have very similar mannerisms, cultures and, of course, vernacular.

If you want to converse or understand what is goin’ on around you, you are going to need to learn the language. Here are some words you should get used to hearing and using for the next 4 (or more) years.

Sexile- The act of being forced to leave your dorm so your roommate can engage in a hookup/sex.

Dormcest/ Dorm Whore- When one becomes romantically/sexually involved with a student occupying the same residence hall or floor.(Note: This is some many college goers do NOT recommend, so date at your own risk)

Walk of Shame- A little trip one takes from the site of a hook-up back to their own place. This is usually done at an ungodly hour while clothes that looked cute the night before but are now wrinkled and smell like a mix of spilled PBR and Axe. Also known as Shame Walk or Sex Walk

Kegger- A party that features a keg. Unless this party is greek-endorsed, expect to pay money to get in.

PJ (Party Juice)- An alcoholic juice that can be made with various types of liquors, sodas and juices. Make sure to ask what’s in the juice before sipping, because some people like to make their pj strong (read: a whole fifth of Everclear). Also known as Jungle Juice. Read More »

Ok, relax, just breathe. You’ll be back at school in…30 days.

This mantra grows increasingly ineffective the longer I am forced to live under the same roof as my mother. If you are lucky enough to have left behind your home home for your school home, then God bless you, throw a kegger in your living room (on a motha effing TUESDAY!) If you, like me, have yet to escape your personal circle of hell, I’ve compiled a small guide to maintaining your sanity as well as familial relations for the remainder of this short (but dear Allah, oh so long) stint back home. Because, let’s face it, being disowned would be counterproductive if your parents still pay the majority of your tuition/rent/medical bills and whatnot.

Scenario: You come home from a bar crawl, unhappy matriarch/patriarch up and awaiting your return, toe tapping a Morse code slew of disapproving comments.

Solution: Passive Aggression. Outwardly, bow your head and accept the berating and “Not under my roof” nonsense. Avoid eye contact, showcasing your humility and apologetic demeanor, all the while making easier your inner thought process: “Haha! You are merely projecting your jealousy onto me because you can’t go out till 3 am! At school, this is an early night! Mwahaha!” Read More »

Dear Boyfriend,

While you were at your frat’s campfire Friday night—I know, triple kegger! How could you not check it out? Life’s too short, bro!—I stayed in and watched “Camp Rock,” Disney Channel’s newest original movie starring The Jonas Brothers.

Let me tell you something; these “bros” are like three Prince Charmings, and you’re still just a frog—a frog with crappy hair gel and a dorm room that constantly smells like Jose Cuervo and dirty underwear.

After the movie, I got to thinking: the JoBros would collectively make a much better boyfriend than you. So without further adieu…

Here are the top 20 reasons why I’d rather date the Jonas Brothers: Read More »

So, it’s finals, which means I probably shouldn’t have been out partying all weekend, but nonetheless, here I am today, haggard, slightly bruised and wildly unprepared for my two exams and three papers due this week. However, I once took a course in cultural anthropology, so I consider it my academic duty to go to parties, observe the social interactions of other youths and report them back to the world.

Thus, I present to you my scholarly dissection of the sexual politics of the keg. This past Friday, I went to my friend’s birthday party. Since I knew the host of the party, I considered myself a VIP and budged the keg line, edging out frat boys in pastel-colored shorts and backwards caps to stake my claim. Once I reached the keg, I started to do what I needed to do when Dude #1 called me out. “HEY!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing? Let me do it for you.”

Um. Okay. I know I may look young and weak, but as a scholar I at least know how to pump a keg. I may not be an engineering major like Dude #1, but come on, it’s like buttering bread. Read More »