[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though most don't involve a large group of potential sorority sisters) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

During the summer before my senior year, I obtained the holy grail of unpaid internships:  working the green room for a popular late-night talk show.  Sure, I was sans-paycheck and super poor, but hanging out with SJP right before the release of the first Sex and the City movie was completely amazing.  Personally sneaking Brad Pitt down through a freight elevator to avoid the mob scene in the main lobby made me go weak at the knees.  And holding Maddox while Angelina was in makeup made me feel like a celebrity mom. Those instances were memorable, yeah, but one celebrity run-in was really head and shoulders above the rest.

It was getting toward the end of my internship and I had the job down pat.  I could anticipate a guest’s Starbucks craving ten minutes before anyone else, had a mental catalogue of foolproof one-liners to relax even the most nervous (or snobby) A-Lister.  Things were good.  Until he happened.

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[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though some are way more disturbing than others) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

While you’re busy busting out A+’s and making new friends in college, it’s always really nice to go home for a weekend. And that is especially true during your freshman year when home friends routinely have elaborate parties where people drunkenly reunite.  It’s great really; chugging a few fuzzy navels with your best high school buddies, reminiscing about all of the TOTES COOL theme parties you’ve encountered on frat row so far, and all of the (Oh Em Gee) hot dudes you’ve met.

My particular high-school-post-first-month-of-college party came in late September my freshman year.  My entire high school class was there (literally all 170 of us), and we finally had enough over 21 contacts to scrounge up all of the alcohol we could ask for. We even had tents set up for drunken hook-ups sleeping.  Now, in order to follow the story, I have to set a prominent scene for you. The location of the party was any college kid’s dream: it was a giant hill in someone’s backyard that opened up to a serene lake with a small mud wrestling pit, a sauna, a hot tub and a huge dock.

It was heaven and everyone was so excited to be there with all of our friends that the drinking became excessive. Read More »

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!]

It was one of those nights where you just have a feeling, before even mixing that first pre-drink, that it’s really gonna suck. But I decided to accompany one of my roommates to our local bar anyway, just to get out of the room. When we finally arrived, my suspicions were confirmed: the crowd was the same and everything blew.

But then, I spotted a mystery boy.
Someone I hadn’t seen before.
Intrigue.

So I flipped my hair, sidled up to the bar, ordered a beer, “accidentally” smacked into him on my way back, one thing led to another, and we were walking back to my dorm.  I had found out through our conversations that he was visiting from an out of state school with a friend (that I knew but actively disliked) and as such, had no lodgings…except for that friend’s room. Read More »

[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!]

One night in the beginning of the semester, my roommates and I decided to drink tequila (read: my clothes would come off). A few hours in, I started to get the itch and texted the last boy I made out with. He was at a party and I was so desperate for some lovin’ that I walked there by myself. When I got there, he was making out with another girl.

But that didn’t stop me.

I hung around the party for awhile, drinking and mingling, until I finally decided this was bullsh*t and I was going home. As soon as I grew a backbone and walked out the door, he texted me to wait for him, and of course I did. He came out to meet me after 15 long minutes and we went back to his frat house.

Once in his room, things started getting hot and heavy, so I asked if he had a condom. He got up, walked over to a drawer to put one on, and then came back to continue…well, you know. Read More »

[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: Read More »