One night stands are fun…until you wake up next to a stranger who may or may not be Quasimodo’s long long half-brother. The conversation that was so easy to have last night is now going into awkward banter territory and you’re trying to figure out the coolest way to ask him if he wore a condom last night. Oh also, you have no idea where your clothes are located.

Think you’re the only one who deals with this? Think again and watch this video. Seriously watch it. I laughed outloud.

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (some of which include less than stable lofts) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I consider myself a pretty honest person. I’m no Mother Theresa, but I don’t lie, especially to authority figures and people I need things from. Back in my sophomore year, I didn’t exactly live up to this creed and it came back to kick my butt. Hard.

Let’s go back to fall of my sophomore year, when my biggest problems were which Halloween party to go to and how to convince my boyfriend to dress up as a Disney prince.  After promising baked goods and undergoing a frantic search for final accessories, we were ready to make our rounds to the nearby apartment parties, ready to wow the crowd with our awesome outfits and get lots of Facebook-worthy pictures. I was on my game, almost.

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[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!]

Wine is cheap in Europe, super cheap. I made that discovery early on during my semester abroad, and took advantage of it during my spring break in Italy. As all college students know, boxed wine in the States is a great invention which allows for portable drinking, but this idea has been one-upped in Europe, with the creation of what my friends and I would lovingly refer to as “wine boxes.” One liter of “table” (ie. awful) wine in a pouch, with an oh-so convenient pop tab opening which allows you to reseal your wine and take it on the go! They’re adult juice boxes, with alarming consequences I would eventually realize.

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[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!]

It’s safe to say that my New Year’s Eve celebration got way out of control this year.

This year my college friends and I decided to go all out for the night. It’s our last year of college and we barely even talk to our home friends anymore, so it made perfect sense that we have a mid-break reunion in the big city. One of my friend’s aunt lives in NYC and she offered up her apartment for the weekend while she was away skiing with her family.

While we spent hours online figuring out travel arrangements and outfit choices, we never got around to actually planning our night. So when the clock start ticking on the 31st we had to go with the only thing we knew was actually happening. A friend of a friend of a cousin of a roommate of a Craigslist killer of a friend was throwing a party in his apartment and told us we were more than welcome to come. We’ve watched Sex and the City so we thought we knew what we were in for — a gorgeous, spacious apartment overflowing with booze and horny well-dressed men.

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

By now you’re almost half way through Winter Break. You’ve got the major holidays behind you- Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s- and that means pretty much all scenarios involving getting drunk with your family have expired. How’d you do? Make it through with minimal blows to your self-respect, pride, and squeaky-clean image?

If you’re like me and live in a house of crazy, you hit the bottle. Hard. And so did your mother, father, nineteen year-old sister, great aunt, bizarre gay uncle, both grandparents, and that random cousin you think is hot (but he’s only like…a third cousin through a second marriage, so it’s okay).

I suppose this submission isn’t so much a “Morning After” as it is a “Week After,” because let me tell you, the occasions on which I embarrassed myself this holiday season were hardly contained to one evening. Sure I could pick one moment to elaborate on, like when my mother explained to her sisters that all the nice boys at school were so interested in me. Of course I had to open my mouth (full of wine-stained teeth) to correct her. The “nice boys” are only interested in one thing. And I just happen to do that one thing really, really well. Then, naturally, I thanked her for giving me so many popsicles as a kid because I sincerely believe that’s where I get my technique. Read More »

[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!]

I had the busiest semester ever in my college career because some genius (read: my idiot self) decided it was a good idea to take 18 hours.  And work.  And hold an officer position in my sorority.  Terrible idea in hindsight.

So needless to say, I rarely went out due to my hectic schedule.  Plus whenever I got home at the end of the day or when I had spare time, I wanted to spend it doing nothing and sleeping.  The weekends were a prime opportunity to rest for half a day before I had to start doing homework and writing papers for my classes.  But those few times I managed to go out, I made it count.  I really made it count.  Especially at my sorority’s last hurrah, the Tacky Christmas party.

If you don’t know what Tacky Christmas is then shame on you.  Basically everyone wears tacky sweaters that your grandma made you or wrapping paper dresses, or if you don’t celebrate Christmas, you put a Menorah crafted from pipe cleaners on your head.  I opted for a gigantic gift bag from Target, while my ex dressed up as a little kid on Christmas.  Oh yeah, did I mention I took my ex as my date?  Well, I did.  Don’t judge me.

Anyway, I figured as it was my last night out with my friends before finals, I should make the most of it.  The ex and I arrived at a pre-game that evolved into a full blown rager before we even made it to the bar.  Not only did I take an unknown number of peppermint patty shots (soooo good!), but I also finished a bottle of crappy champagne by myself.  I weigh 100 pounds, and hardly drank this semester.  You do the math.

We eventually got everyone to migrate to the bar, which was a terribly difficult task since we were having much more fun at the pre-party.  I was expecting to get big black X’s on my hands that night, but one of my friends happened to be working the door at the bar and gave beautiful, shiny wristbands to my ex and I.  Well, I successfully closed my tab after one beer.  See that?  I was responsible.  But then I stole the ex’s pitcher and drank half of it.

I don’t remember dancing on stage with the rapper.  Or grinding in my gift bag.  Or going home.  But from what I was told here’s what happened:

The ex drove me home and was going to stay with me to make sure I saw the next day (so sweet).   When we got to my apartment complex, I decided that I didn’t live on the first floor and ran away.  I hid under a stairwell for about ten minutes, and then I continued my adventure up to the third floor where two random guys were cheering me on as the ex chased me down.  Finally, he managed to catch me and carry me back to my apartment.  My roommate was still awake, which was good because I did everything she said and refused to listen to the ex.

After getting me into my pajamas, they tried to give me water.

me: “NO! It’s a Horcrux!”

ex: “What?!”

me: “It’s a Horcrux! You have to destroy it! Unless you’re Lord Voldemort…”

ex: “Babe, it’s not a Horcrux. Drink your water.”

me: “Obliviate!”

I don’t remember this conversation but since two out of three people do, I’ll accept it.  Apparently I continued to cast spells and begged for my roommate’s wand.  She decided I’d poke my eye out and told me it was at Olivander’s for repairs.  I was very upset about that.

Eventually, I got sick, drank the Horcrux water after it was destroyed, went to sleep, and had wonderful dreams that I was Harry Potter.

[You think that's bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]

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

I am currently studying abroad in an unspecified location in the world. We’ll just say… not in the U.S. (really narrowing it down there). My host university always organizes events at bars and such for students, but my roommates and I usually just pass on them because they just wind up being these huge all-American fests. But the other night we actually decided to go because this particular bar, in the red-light district, was serving unlimited free wine and beer between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. and, honestly, who could pass that up?

We did our usual pregame before the bar and all 4 out of my 4 roommates wound up getting wasted. Literally, couldn’t stand up, needed-to-borrow-the-flip-flops-I-conveniently-had-in-my-purse wasted. Mind you, it was only around 8 p.m. We hadn’t even left the house and I was already fully concerned about my roommates’ well-being, mainly because bouncers in this particular city are extremely strict with blatantly belligerent people trying to enter into their clubs (I wonder why…).

But I was worrying for nothing. Somehow all of us managed to get let in and the real (free) drinking quickly began. After we all scurried over to the bar to grab some drinks I wound up chatting it up with an adorable American guy for a really long time while all my roommates disappeared into another adjacent room. I wasn’t too worried though; it was a pretty small place. Only when I finally made my way over there, let’s say around 9:30 p.m., 2 out of the 4 girls were missing. Read More »

For a long while (ahem, code for way too long) I dated a guy a little younger than me.  And by dated, I mean every Friday night, we would get together after an intense evening partying and make out like wild animals.

We were pretty serious about our business.  We would run off from parties, and cozy up in his car.  We would sneak into my apartment when the roommates weren’t home and make out on my dirty, toothpaste stained sink.  We would frolic through the side streets from parties, making out like bunny rabbits. We would rush up to the bathroom of any party and eat each others faces off. Anywhere we could go in “private,” we would go.

One morning, after a particularly awesome night with my fave younger man, I woke up pretty early to go to the bathroom.  My make out king was sleeping soundly, so I tried not to wake him as I crawled to my demise.  In the bathroom (which conjoined the only two bedrooms in our suite that we all shared), I was welcomed by a bodily fluid surprise.  The entire bathroom was completely painted in urine.   The walls, the ocean scene shower curtain, the toilet seat, the ceiling, the door, the towels, the everything. Covered in urine.

My eyes bugged out, and I stood frozen.  A girl absolutely could not make this happen with the constraint of having a va-jay-jay.  This was a complete man-made mess.  My angry roommate showed up on the other side of the bathroom and gave me a look I would imagine getting before my head was cut off.  Kevin showed up behind me and looked around the bathroom in embarrassment.  I looked up at him slowly and was face-to face with two hickeys the size of Texas.

My roommate snorted from the other end,

“You might want to get some concealer for those marks on your neck…oh and have fun cleaning this up.” Needless to say the romance fizzled after we spent 6 hours bleaching away the smell the his piss.

[You think that's bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]

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

Thanksgiving is a wonderful opportunity to come together with your family and give thanks for the abundance of gifts you’ve received over the seasons: health, happiness, togetherness, discovering that sandwich place on campus that’s open until 3a.m. on weekends.

For one night, calories (and there are many) don’t count.  There’s no guilt when reaching for that second piece of pie because you’re pretty sure your fat cousin Maggie is on her sixth slice.  Gravy is meant to be consumed over everything.  Thin slices of turkey are for novices, so you, practically a freakin’ pilgrim, want the whole dang leg.  Diets can resume tomorrow.

My favorite part of this sacred holiday, however, comes when the table is cleared and the family is passed out in the living room.  It’s a subtle tradition, but one that college students the country over take quiet pleasure in every year.  What am I referring to, you ask?  Well, it’s the “I’m home with nothing to do and so are you, so let’s do each other” booty call.

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