[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 I can say with absolute certainty that not everyone's includes a private plane and handcuffs) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

Last weekend I went to my friend’s birthday at one of those exclusive NYC clubs where you can’t get in if you’re not on a list. My friends and I got decked out for a big night on the town, which meant I put on a really short dress, slipped on my big practically-unwalkable heels, and shaved my legs. At first everything at the club was really fun and really trendy and really vodka-y. I was dancing on the tables and shamelessly hitting on guys. But that’s what happens when you’re drinking for free.

You know what also happens when you’re drinking for free? People lose their inhibitions as well as their dignity. One couple went from grinding on the dancing floor to humping on a booth. And while they were humping another couple edged into our corner and started getting busy. It didn’t take long before both girls were straddling the guys with their dresses pulled up and their underwear pushed down. While I can’t say that I saw actual intercourse (hard to see things when you’re shielding your eyes), I did see fingers going places fingers do not belong when those fingers are in public. One of the tables began shaking so hard that a waiter came over.  However I wrongly assumed that the waiter would stop the couple. Instead he just removed the glasses off the table so that there would be not broken glass when they started going at it on the floor. It’s at this point I started asking myself what was going on and what was I doing there.

And then one girl took a break (most likely to get tested for STDs) and her new lover took this as a chance to pick me up in both of his arms and say excitedly, “your turn.” Suddenly this went to bizarre and funny to Lifetime Movie of the Month. When I made it clear I would not be hooking up with him, he flipped me upside down, which made my dress flip upside down too. Attractive AND classy!

At that point, when I was mooning the entire club and wondering how I ended up in some fetish swingers sexy club, he put me down. I took one look at my friends and we ran out of there. In the cab ride home there were a lot of “what the?” but no actual coherent sentences. It wasn’t until I was back in my apartment, comfortably sitting in sweats, with my chastity belt on and locked that I could actualy talk about what just happened. Needless to say I can check “watching live porn” off my bucket list.

I remember my college graduation like it was yesterday. After a group of my friends threw an open bar graduation party for family and friends the night before, I woke up graduation morning hungover, naked and confused about  my whereabouts. I rolled over to find myself lying next to the first college friend I made at orientation.

“Fitting,” I thought to myself. Then I grabbed my clothes (all but one shoe…which I told myself I could live without) and ran out the door. If I didn’t get home soon, I would be late for graduation.

I hailed a cab on the corner of the street and hopped in. On the short ride back to my house, I passed families all dressed up for the great moment that was their son/daughter/grandchild/cousin/brother/sister’s graduation. I looked down at the clothes I wore the night before and the unidentified scars that can only come from a night of heavy drinking on someone else’s tab.

“Fitting,” I thought to myself again.

When I got home, I threw open the door to find my roommates standing around the mirror attempting to get their caps on straight. They looked at me with a mixture of “you go, girl!” and “really? The day of graduation?” looks on their faces.

I ran to my room. There was no time to shower, so a ponytail and a fresh coat of makeup would have to do. I was meeting my family in 25 minutes and, being that it was MY graduation, I couldn’t be late. I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, washed my face, threw my hair in a ponytail (thank god that cap covered all the grease) and was on my way. Before I could make it out the door with my roommates, though, a wave of nausea hit me.

I leaned over the porch and puked. On my honors cord.

“Fitting,” my best friend said as she fished my cap out of the bushes.

My roommates helped me wipe off my overpriced rayon gown and held my clammy hands as we made our way to the stadium. I chugged a bottle of water and chewed three pieces of gum before quickly greeting my family and getting in line for the procession.

The rest of graduation is kind of a haze. I walked with my friends while simultaneously talking to and looking for my parents in the sea of 100,000 people.  I spent the rest of the boring 2 hour ceremony talking to my friends over some boring speech by some dude I’d never heard of, all while praying to god that I could make it out of there before I puked again.

And then it was over. When all was said and done and our caps were thrown in the air, I started to sob. Somewhere in the stands my parents were also crying, but unlike their tears of joy and pride at their baby growing up, mine were tears of deep, deep sorrow.

College was officially over. The life I had worked towards for the past 16 years was about to begin. All the friends I had made were about to be gone.

I stood in a circle with my best friends and we all cried as the stands emptied out around us. Then one of them pulled a fifth of vodka out from under her gown and passed it around.

“How fitting,” I thought to myself. And it all was.

Any of you have graduation stories to share? Was it everything you thought it would be? Share your stories below!

So, congratulations! Have you picked a date? Done the dress shopping? Gone cake tasting? Picked the esteemed members of your bridal party? Great! So if we could take a minute to shift the focus over to me? Yeah.

You’re freaking me out.

Early, early, early 20s are not a time when the general “you” should be worried about marriage, especially when I can’t even decide whether I want to go to grad school or work or what. And yet, you’re kind of making me think I should be worried. I mean, isn’t everybody in the dating game right now, yourselves excluded? Aren’t most pople our age single? Don’t you know that marriage is supposed to be forever and divorces are really expensive and, frankly, so are weddings (especially on the east coast—eep)?

And also, are you going to get all judgy all of a sudden? I’m still the delinquent “single friend” who can’t land a boyfriend for more than a couple months at a shot, I have no life direction as yet (but we’re hoping, any day now, for an epiphany)… Are you going to keep giving me that “I’m judging you without trying to seem that way” look while continually asking how my dating life is going? Because I can tell you already: I’m really not going to meet anyone anytime soon. I’m pretty sure I’m bad at the dating game and I probably can’t even find someone to commit to being my date at your wedding to keep me from looking as alone and pathetic as I apparently am…

No, it’s fine. I’ll be at the bar, don’t worry about it.

Wait; you are having an open bar, aren’t you?

I’m sure it’s not your intention to make me feel bad here, and your wedding is really just about the two of you and eternal love and sunshine and daisies and what-not. But until this whole engagement situation I really thought I was just normal and average for a twenty-something. But… marriage. Wow. You kids aren’t screwing around. You’re getting your lives together. I just settled on my major last week, thought that was a big deal, but here you are stealing my thunder, not parting til death and throwing yourselves bachelor and bachelorette parties that I can’t even afford to attend. Oh and also, thanks for registering at Crate & Barrel; I can maybe afford to buy you a serving spoon or can opener.

In any case, I guess it’s not your fault, and I don’t exactly blame you… but you’re kind of bringing out the worst in me. You make me feel inadequate and kind of uncomfortable. And alone. And poor. Can you maybe just make an extra vow to some of your friends to not become the lame married couple? To stay fun and pleasant like you were when you were just boyfriend-and-girlfriend? To not make the rest of us feel awkward for being single, and to not judge us for our lack of awesomeness in relationships?

Thanks.

And again, mazel tov.

Love,

K

PS—If you want me in your bridal party, peach is not a color option.

[Photo courtesy of home.att.net]

The third thing hangovers do?  Propel us toward every unhealthy food that has ever been invented.

Being that this was my first real wedding experience and I was a bridesmaid, I got to see what really goes on behind the scenes of a twenty-something wedding. I realized many things about love and relationships and the craziness that is planning for such an occasion.

Weddings are special because they allow you to bond with family, as you all witness together, the bond between husband and wife become sacred and, hopefully, one that actually sticks in the end.

But I was already aware of that mushy stuff much going into it, and, sure, I wanted to bring along my own special someone to share it with.What I didn’t know is just how much weddings make for fabulous places to party, meet members of the opposite sex and opportunities to better appreciate life as a single girl! Woohooo! Let’s make some memories, people.

I’ve heard many, many girls whine and complain about having to go to a wedding stag, dateless and alone. I was one of them. Most girls would rather be attacked by the plague than go to one of these things by themselves.

After all, at this point in life, you can’t find a more romantic date than a wedding. And just like back in the days of prom or any other function that involves the purchase of a new dress, as soon as a female hears about a potential wedding or opens an envelope to reveal that holy invitation, the first thing that pops into her mind is, “Oh my god, who will be my date!?! What if I don’t have a date? I’ll DIE, I’ll just DIE. Great. That’s it. My life is over. Thanks, Cindy and Mark. Thanks a lot.”

I’ll admit, before breaking up with my boyfriend of three years, I had every intention of bringing him to my brother’s wedding. But, alas, there I was, broken up – stag, dateless and alone, worrying about having to sit on the sidelines during slow songs at the reception and having no one to gaze at lovingly during the ceremony while I imagined my own wedding.

If you find yourself in a similar solitary position, do not fret. Once you accept the fact you’re going to a wedding without a date, realize that if you can get through this, you can get through anything….jump any hurdle….climb any mountain. Okay, maybe it’s not that extreme, but you’ll definitely be one step closer to becoming that strong, confident, Independent Woman…and maybe have a kick-ass time like I did, or even get some action while you’re there!

Based on my weekend wedding extravaganza, here are some factors to consider as you leave that guest box on the RSVP (don’t cry) unchecked:

The Open Bar. Wedding parties (well, good ones anyway) always have an open bar. Once you get a couple of drinks in your system, you’ll loosen up and love the fact that they are free drinks which won’t take any money out of your poor, college pockets. Make friends with the bartender. Become one with the bartender. Hang at the bar and skim the room for hotties who you will soon fearlessly hit on. Preferably, dateless hotties, as a wedding is no place for a cat fight.

The “Fast” Dancing. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much in my life than I did at my brother’s wedding, and it was sooo much fun. Why? Because I had nothing and no one holding me back, and no boy pouting about having to dance the Electric Slide, which, by the way, never gets old.

The people who dance at weddings are usually the ones who are the most fun there. The dancers mainly consist of (1) dorky family members with horrible yet hilarious moves and (2) the fun groomsmen and bridesmaids who love to drink and party. If you’re not a bridesmaid and you haven’t had a chance to get in with them or the groomsmen, get to know these people on the dance floor. Before you know it, you’ll be drunkenly doing the MC Hammer and loving every minute of it.

The “Slow” Dancing. Ahh, the slow dance. Either the best thing in the world or the worst. We’ve all been there: the beat slows down as everyone scrambles to find a partner. Some weddings only play a couple slow songs, and in my case, there were only two. During the first slow song, I sat at my chair and thought about getting back together with my ex, so that I would never be faced with this situation ever again. I thought I was done with this stuff back in high school!

But, during the second slow song, I found the courage to walk right over to the *very* cute and *very* single best man and I asked him to dance. If I hadn’t have been cutting it up with him during the fast songs, like Jessie’s Girl, I may never have bonded with him in the first place. I realized I had a lot more guts than I thought, and slow dancing with the guy I’d been eyeing all night was definitely a romantic highlight.

The Guys. Weddings are crawling with single guys. Men don’t really care about going to these things with dates, because a lot of them are just as happy hanging out with other guy friends in a totally heterosexual way.

So, you’ve been drinking, you’ve been dancing, you’re wearing a great, new, sexy dress and you’re single. Unlike all the coupled-up girls, you can chat up every boy in the whole damn place – take your pick! You may not have arrived at the wedding with a guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t leave with one.

Date or no date, have fun at your next wedding experience. Relish in your singleness, because before you know it, you’ll be married and boring. And that husband of yours is just one more thing that may hold you back from dancing the awesome Electric Slide.