AOL is taking the “best of” approach in 2011 to a whole new level this year. While the rest of the Internet (including ourselves) is focusing on “newsworthy” events like Kim Kardashian’s 72 day fake marriage to Kris Dumpfries and the perfect storm that was Rebecca Black, AOL has honed in on celebrating and remembering the loudest 11 days that took place in 2011. Generating their entire list based on readers’ comments, shares and tweets, they have compiled the most sought after news that Americans searched for in the past 365 days.

See the 11 Biggest Days of 2011 right here and then share your thoughts and opinions below. Do you agree with their list? Did they miss anything? Can you believe how much has happening this yera?

Last night’s episode of the Jersey Shore finally put the last nail in the Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino coffin. Oh well, at least he has mad cooking skills to compete in Top Chef. I personally was heartbroken watching him go from house Papa Bear to ultimate entitled creepshow. From kicking out girls to cockblocking “the world” to parking wherever he damn well pleases, he was the biggest embarrassment to the episode.

Not to mention, our blessed jewel Ryder left Snooki and left us pulling our Ed Hardy trucker hats over our eyes and weeping for a better life in Poughkeepsie. Wahhhh, I’m so sad my all-expense paid trip to Miami doesn’t measure up!

The real only way to sum up the episodes is through the top quotes of the night.

“Can I be your pajamas? Wear meee!” – Vinny
The episode opens with yet another tender love scene between Vinny and Ramona from Romania (clearly not cast by MTV, at all) where he basically body slams her in a fit of affection as her “pajamas.” He explains to Ron that he can total “wife her up” but he’s not in love, that’s for suckers. Mmmmhmmm. Okay, Vin.

His second tender love scene was him consoling Snooki. She compares him to her big brother, then pauses and reminds us, “but usually you don’t have sex with your big brother.” Thank you for the PSA, Snooks.

“If you lookin’ good you feelin’ good, if you feelin’ good, you get good results” – The Situation
HUH?

“I MISS RYDER!!!!” – Snooki
Us too, Snookers, us too. Thank God Jenni was there, first offering to take her tanning, then getting her mind off of things by taking her to the ultimate club, Space. They all scream that they’re going to space for a good half hour, we all wonder why they’re just figuring this out now.

“If you got the phattest gear, and no one can come into your atmosphere then you’re a part of tee-shirt time until we yell ‘CABS ARE HERE!’” – Vinny
I don’t know about you, but I am ready for the Vinny Rap album. In addition to the “TEE-SHIRT TIME!!!!” Pauly D alarm clock. OH YEAH!!!

“She looks like the ultimate stripper” – Snooki
RE: JWoww’s mesh belly shirt, royal blue pasties, giant pink hoops and miniskirt. Very astute, Nicole. Shortly after, Snookers picks a fight, Mike and his crazy eyes get involved and gets everyone thrown out of Space. What a waste of pasties. Luckily, Sitch and Pauly grab two random scrams on their way out of the club. Hopefully, and likely, they are DTF.

“I never said anything about checkers, old man!” – Rando NOT-DTF girl
Hmm, guess that’s not happening. Mike spins out of control into Douchebag of the Century, telling the lewdly dressed young lady claiming she’s not DTF that she can kindly leave or cuddle on the couch with a pillow. Pauly sweetly comforts the clearly DTF blonde, but obviously with her friend being banished from the bedroom and rebuffed from the hot tub, she also leaves the scene.

“She was a grenade” – The Situation, “He got rejected” – Pauly
Mike tries to cover up his embarrassing rejection by claiming warzone in the bedroom. However, we all know that the young woman with the oh-so-classy multi-colored (faux) Louis Vuitton is probably the highest ranking lady that Mike’s even gotten under the covers. Gross.

“FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!” – DJ Pauly D
Post-drama, the Situation attempts to redeem himself by making another extravagant Sunday family dinner. Of course, he’s running the kitchen like the Iron Chef but moronically puts the burning hot pan into the sink, setting off two alarms in the house: the fire alarm and DJ Pauly D. The fire alarm blares and Pauly yells out in his Kool-Aid man voice until the hunky hunksters of the Miami Fire Department come to save the day. Snooki makes some reference to her fantasy about a “fireman putting out her fire” but we’re a little unclear on the metaphor.

“You look Asian; I like it” – Ronnie
The gravest insult to be doled out to Sammi since season 1′s “Fred Flinstone Toe” occurrence.

“You can shut up and respect me now” – Sammi
Sweetheart trailing off into her crazed rampage about nothing proves nothing except that she needs serious mood stabilizers and desperately needs to take a cue from Ang and hit the road. Something about Asian ex-girlfriends, something about fighting, nothing that makes sense. Also, she’s smoking? What?

“Probably coulda taken a girl out to dinner for $175″ – The Situation
Sitch not only strikes out with the ladies multiple times, cock blocks the whole world, wears Ed Hardy sweatpants, isn’t involved in the couples’ day frolicking on the beach (PS: how cute is Rocio!?) but he finally gets the Guidscelade towed and tries to claim that he would actually take a girl out to eat.

Ew… Hate it! If only he could get kicked out of Miami as quickly as he got kicked off DWTS…

We had many, many thoughts going into this episode. Many questions about how the Snooki/Angelina throwdown would go down. Questions on if Tee-Shirt time would make another appearance (it did). Questions if Pauly would, yet again, be a human alarm clock with a crazy Kool-Aid man “OH YEAHHHH!” voice (he was). As the episode started up, we only had one burning question in mind, 25 minutes in:

WHERE IS SNOOKI?

MTV, you threw a lot at us this episode. A lot. So much that I was actually compelled to watch the After Show, wondering how to steal the host’s job. Let’s break this episode down by the major events.

PART I: The Situation Gets Punched by a Girl (again) and Bangs a Canadian, eh?
Angelina socks The Situation in the face and JWoww has a heart-to-heart with her since they can now bond over the common ground about punching Sitch in the face. WTF, Jenni? We miss your ‘roid rage. Situation reiterates that he’s the glue/leader of the shore crew and reminds us all that Angelina sucks. He moves his frustration to the club Karma/Kantra/Krib or whatever it was, and brings along some Canadian girl who’s a real handful in the sack and on the dance floor, fighting women off her man’s abs. Vinny makes some Canadian joke aboot the girl and Nutella and the crew all listens to them scream and moan in the smush room. (Seriously, that ish was loud.)

PART II: DJ Pauly D’s Words of Wisdom
“It’s a guy thing” RE: Angelina bringing home randos. Um, okay. Double standards much, DJ? Whatever, we’re not judging your hyper-organized closet or the fact that you use a hairdryer. Moving past the misogyny, we can’t stay mad at you. We just love your “OH YEAHHHH” and the start up of “Tee Shirt Tiiiiiiiiime.” You may have even trumped Ramona Singer’s “Turtle Time.”

PART III: Angelina in MTV’s “THE DECISION”
If it weren’t blindingly clear Angelina, you are not Lebron and the JShore cast is not Cleveland. They do not give a flying dirty pad if you leave or not. Please stop trying to keep us in suspense and kindly leave. You throw around the word “yous” and scream about everyone being fake; deny being a whore; lie about sleeping with people; claim you have friends and a life (who’s fake now?); leave cheese all over the Escalade; tell Mike to “drop ya ugly face”; and eventually (THANKFULLY) pack your bags, leave them outside for the gang to see (and scream at), and sit on the couch with a miserable look on your already miserable face, playing with your Donald Trump bangs.

ATTENTION ANGELINA: YOU ARE A SOCIOPATH AND RUINED THIS SEASON OF THE SHORE. NOBODY LIKES YOU.

PART IV: Snookin’ For Love
We learn all about what Snooki is looking for in a man other than the exterior of ethnicity (tan) and gender (gorilla). She wants someone who can not only fistpump, but “frolick,” likes to sleep in (as in, in his sunglasses?) and is a dork at heart. She rejects match.com (again). Maybe she should start her own Guidette dating site? She and Jenni vow to find her a man either at the gym, tanning salon or local Ed Hardy store. Instead, she finds someone, at a club, who Angelina had already hooked up with. Which brings us to…

PART V: Snooki vs. Angelina
“In one corner we have Snooki, 4 feet 1 inch, 2 with the poof and in the other we have Angelina weighing in at 322 pounds…” Ron announces the fight and the catfight begins. Embarrassing that Angelina is stone cold sober and Snooki can’t even see straight enough to throw a glass jar of shells at Angelina’s bulbous head. Luckily, The Situation swoops in and moves the coffee table, for fear it may get injured. Watching this fight was actually painful, like watching toddlers scuffle on a playground. Frankly, it was pathetic and didn’t live up to the hype. And we nearly see Snooki’s poopa again and again. Angelina storms out of the house (FINALLY) and advises them all again that they are fake and that The Situation needs to invest in some Botox. Pauly and Vinny dash off to rearrange the feng shui of the bedroom.

Good riddance, Angelina – you will not be missed. I would recap all the highlights of you being in the house, but I just don’t have any. I do, however, have a question:

Who still wears pads?! Oh right, too loosey goosey to hold a tampax.

Until next week, keep that V-Neck fresh and continue keep Sammi off future episodes.

Most ridiculously of all, Vh1 is trying to convince us that Miley Cyrus is a diva. Come on, guys! Divas don’t sing songs with titles like “Party in the USA” or have a close, personal relationship with Mickey Mouse. No offense, Miley.

There are a few bright spots on the horizon, though. As always, Fashion Week provided us with some grade-A escapism. Whether you’re knocking boots with a special someone or saving up your v-card, we had you covered. (One piece of advice for all the virgins out there—when you do decide to lose it, head over to Washington, D.C. You’re welcome.)

Best of all? If you can prove how much you love College Candy, you might just win a snazzy new laptop. Seriously!

So cheer up, everybody. It’s Friday! Throw on a pair of camouflaged sweat pants, breathe a sigh of relief, and go out and make some bad decisions this weekend. It’s all uphill from here.

Of course, before we got to meet the new designers in the main event, we had a little taste of some of our favorite designers from previous seasons in the Project Runway All-Star Challenge. I was more than happy to spend two hours with Chris March, Santino Rice, Daniel Vosovic, among others, but after seeing the snooze-fest of a cast that is season six, I wish I hadn’t been teased with such greatness.

Yeah, I said it. I think this season’s cast is bo-to-the-ring. But we’ll get to that in a moment.

The All-Star challenge was star studded (Nicole Kidman, what?!), suspenseful (“Project Runway on steroids,” according to Uli), and fun to watch (except for Jeffrey’s new ‘stache – what the eff was up with that?). And it had a fantastic ending for my favorite designer in PR history, which I won’t share here in case some of you missed it. (It was Daniel! Sorry, I can’t keep it to myself. I just love him so much and he should have one the first time around!!)

Once King Daniel was crowned, it was time for the real deal: the Project Runway Season 6 premiere. I ran to the bathroom quickly (turning the TV up loud enough so I wouldn’t miss a moment), then grabbed a snack and settled in for amazingness.

And I waited.
And waited.

Yup. A full 60 mins went by and I got nothing. Sure, some of the new designers proved they had the talent to be on the show, and some of them brought the weird, but did any of them have a Christian/Santino/Jay McCaroll personality? One word: nopers.

Granted, I did enjoy watching the challenge. In fact, I was quite relieved when I heard it was to design an outfit that showcased who these people were as designers and innovators, because in the past the crazy-weird challenges sometimes led to early dismissals of people that could’ve stayed longer. This was an open challenge and really let us see what each of these designers were about. And what did we learn?

Apparently Johnny is all about crying.
Ari is all about being a super-freak.
And Mitchell is all about showing off his model’s lady parts.

And who got to judge all this madness coming down the runway? None other than Lindsay Freaking Lohan. As in repeat-rehab, fire-crotch, tanorexic Lohan. I couldn’t believe it! Lindsay Lohan…was working! And she looked good! And she spoke eloquently! And I seriously had issues wrapping my mind around the fact that this girl – the queen of the crotch shot – was judging other people’s designs. But she did a great job and gave some pretty good feedback.

Even to freakaleak, Ari.

For a moment I thought she was going to love that spacey soccer ball design because:
1) It’s super short, which is perfect for vajayjay flashing, and
2) Ari looks JUST. LIKE. SAMANTHA RONSON. Did anyone else see that? OMG, it was eery.

Anyways, Christopher ended up winning the challenge because of his cute black ruffle dress (which was one of the only memorable ones, right?), but I also LOVED Ra’mon’s (love his name too) navy asymmetrical gown. It just screamed Red Carpet.

And while I’m sad the biggest freak of all got sent home (seriously, that girl wanted to make clothes that could turn into tents with water filtration systems??), I’m not sure I could handle her spandex onesies for another episode. Auf….er…See ya later, Ari!

[One of the greatest aspects of college life is the morning-after recap with friends. You stumble out of bed, grab your liquid of choice, and gather around the living room to replay (and remind yourself of) the events of last night. You laugh, you cringe and you share the highest of highs...and the rock-bottom lowest of lows. We thought we'd bring the fun of the recap to CollegeCandy, so grab that coffee and take part in the deliciously awkward moments your CC friends have to share.]

The second weekend of freshman year I was still riding on the elation of being at college and the freedom it offered. One of those freedoms being the freedom to drink as much as I wanted when I wanted. The girls on my hall and I were invited to a party at the baseball apartment off campus where I met a very cute, older, baseball player who seemed to take an interest in me. A few drinks later we were making out in his buddy’s room (or so I’ve been told by my friends who busted in to see what was going on).

Eventually everyone decided to take the party back to campus and go to what we call the “old apartments,” which is basically this crazy set of apartments on campus that are renowned for being crazy party spots. The one thing that is still clear to me (besides losing numerous games of beer pong) was that the cute older baseball boy could not remember my name. After being called different names that all started with the letter of my first name but were definitely NOT my name, I became a little upset with this adorable boy who wanted me to spend the night.

Finally, I made the executive decision to write my name down on him somewhere so he wouldn’t forget.  I grabbed a permanent marker off the beer pong table and told him to give me his arm so I could write my name down so he would never forget. He then so artfully said, “No I play baseball, write it on my chest!” So I proceeded to write my name and phone number in huge letters on his chest. When I woke up at 4am, (thankfully) still in my clothes from the night before, I saw the damage I had done (hickeys on his neck, permanant marker on his chest)  and I peaced out of there. Unfortunately one of his apartment-mates was in my first class on Monday morning and made it perfectly clear that he (and everyone else) knew what had gone down.

Unfortunately, almost two years later, I still hear comments about the “lacrosse girl freshman” who wrote on Goody’s chest and my friends will never let me live it down. I still get the “Do you remember the time….” everywhere I go.  Thanks, friends, because although you’ve told me a thousand times, I still can’t seem to remember.

But where would we be without our friends to remind us of our notorious bad decisions?

[This story was submitted by a CollegeCandy reader. You got a story to share? Email it to Lauren@CollegeCandy.com and we'll share it here! Don't worry - we'll keep your name a secret!]

[One of the greatest aspects of college life is the morning-after recap with friends. You stumble out of bed, grab your liquid of choice, and gather around the living room to replay (and remind yourself of) the events of last night. You laugh, you cringe and you share the highest of highs...and the rock-bottom lowest of lows. We thought we'd bring the fun of the recap to CollegeCandy, so grab that coffee and take part in the deliciously awkward moments your CC friends have to share.]

I’ll put it plainly: On my 19th birthday, I made it my duty to get really, really drunk. It was my freshman year at school, and my parents had come up for the weekend and taken a few of my closest friends out to celebrate with us. Naturally, as is often customary when mom and dad are footing the bill, the wine was flowing for a good two hours. By the time we finished dinner and got back to campus I had a great buzz, and we made our way to our friend’s apartment where a party was being thrown in my honor.

A kid that I had been hooking up with lived in the apartment along with nine other guys, and as the night went on we starting flirting a lot and it seemed like I would end up spending the night. I was really excited that he was paying attention to me – so excited that I didn’t even care when I dropped my new cell phone in the toilet. (I’ll always owe one of my best friends for sticking her hand into my pee and extracting my shiny pink Motorola Razor… Since that weekend, when talking to my parents, I’ve maintained the argument that one of my friends dropped it into the toilet. They still don’t believe me.)

Anyways, fast forward to the next morning.

I woke up with my best friend’s phone number (the same friend who bravely retrieved my cell phone from the depths of the toilet bowl) scrawled across my stomach. When I opened my eyes I was staring my boy right in the….feet. It just so happens that the guy and I woke up lying HEAD TO TOE in his bed. That’s right. My head was at the bottom of the bed; I had no clothes on, and no recollection of the events that had passed the previous night.

I rolled over and looked to the clear coffee table in the middle of the room. There was a puddle of yellow liquid shining in the morning sunlight. I was later informed that I got out of bed – midway through a make-out session, I might add – and mistook the table for the toilet. Oops. I tried insisting that there was no way that I had done that, and suggested that perhaps he was the one who thought it was a good idea to pee in the middle of his bedroom. I was wrong.

To top it all off, I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened (sexually, if you know what I mean), and had to have the extremely embarrassing conversation in which I “clarified” the night’s activities. “Did we….?” “Condom or no condom?” “Was I good? You know…after the pee pee incident?” You know the deal.

Since the boy still found me attractive enough to hump post table-pee, I figured he was OK with it. A week later, though, I found out that stories of my little peeing problem had been making their way through his group of friends, all of whom were seniors and must have had some great laughs at my expense. To make matters worse, my best friend was dating one of the guys who lived in his house, and my friends and I were always over there. I had to see him (and ignore him) all the time, and was constantly reminded of my shameful birthday behavior.

It was certainly a night to remember, or forget, as the case may be.

You have a story to recap? Email it to Lauren@collegecandy.com and she’ll share it (anonymously, of course) here!

When I was a freshman I was fortunate to meet my best friends in the world right there in my hall. We were all randomly placed there, but it took no time to realize that fate had put us there together. The 8 of us hit it off immediately and began spending every moment together.

As we went through our 4 years of college and all of the experiences that come with it, we turned to one another for advice, feedback and any information the others might have to shed light on our situation. And yes, to this day, that includes the juicy details of our late-night (or midafternoon!) exploits.

As soon as a guy would leave the room, my best friends and I would gather to dish it all out. Every. last. bit. From the quality of the hookup to the size of his….friend….. we’d let it all out. I knew everything (and I mean everything) that went on between my friends and their boys between the sheets. More than those boys would ever want to know about.

But after a particularly juicy recap recently I started to wonder if guys do the same thing. Do guys sit around and give a play by play (or blow by blow….) of their late night trysts? I know they like to add the notches to their bedposts, but do they share the deets like my friends do? I asked a guy. Here’s the skinny:

We’re so pooped now we can barely form complete sentences.

Or is that the boxed wine we just drank…

Anyways, here is a look back at this hellish week.

The Bad:

The not-so-great news from the gyno.

The lack of a social scene on some college campuses.

That douchey Jason and his Bachelor mind games.

The leftover pizza…eaten off the floor.

A university preventing students from getting access to birth control.

The knowledge that Ryan Seacrest and I could never be.

The Good:

Getting ready for SPRING BREAK, baby.

Which can still be awesome even if we’re not goin’ anywhere.

An awesome dance playlist.

Relaxed fit (read: no muffin top!) pants are back.

Alexander McQueen is coming to Target!

That not-so-hot boy can still turn you on.

And, the best of all, there are some seriously hot professors out there. 

It’s amazing how universal the college experience is and how readily we all accept it as normal. Talk to any college student on any college campus in the country and you will easily find common ground: in the drinking games, in the fake ID horror stories, in the theme parties, in the hook ups.

It is only when an outsider (Read: An Old Person) looks in and comments on the college scene that we take a second look and realize that our choices really aren’t that…acceptable.

My friend recently sent me this article, in which some old dude jumps into the college scene and reports what he finds. And what was it? Just your typical weekend at any college campus: parties, makeouts, puking, etc. Only, when he talks about it it sounds a lot different than when we share our stories in a typical Saturday morning recap.

To any college student, this article is nothing new (except maybe that whole Girl Goyle thing…I have never heard of that!), but seeing it from the outside makes it seem so different.  So wrong.

When we are sitting in the college bubble, putting a garbage can in front of a drunk person not only seems normal, it seems responsible. But to an outsider, it is ludacris.

To a college student, grinding up next to someone at a college party is the universal sign for interest. But to an outsider, it is almost barbaric.

And how many girls have you seen giving impromptu lap dances to friends at a party? Or making out with some completely random guy at a party for 10 minutes before heading back to her friends? Or blacking out for a night only to get up the next day to do it all again.

It’s all normal, standard and expected as part of the college experience, but it all seems so shameful when seen through the eyes of someone else. I mean, stop and think about it for a minute: why do people to Keg Stands? And why do we devote so much energy into bouncing a quarter into a glass? And why are we so consumed with sticking our tongues into random people’s mouths in a dirty, stinky basement?

College is supposed to be preparing us for the real world, but how often do you think professionals judge their peers based on their performance in a case race?

How did we get here and is it something we should be ashamed of, or just another case of older people just not getting us? Should we care? And, more importantly, have you ever done a Girl Goyle?!