When you’re dating someone new, it’s obviously good advice to be wary of their exes. But since college is a fishbowl, exes aren’t the only type of people you need to be worried about. There’s tons of people who can make your life as miserable as possible or just ruin it all together.

Here are the potential time bombs just ready to mess up your relationship.

initiating the gallery...

Your parents house: There’s nothing worse than going at it when your Dad walks in asking if you two are ready for dinner. Not only will he forever hate your boyfriend, but you will no longer be looked at as Daddy’s Little Girl…You will now be looked at as Daddy’s Little Slut. Not the best way to continue that blissful father-daughter relationship…

On an exercise machine: Envision that scene in Sixteen Candles when Long Duck Dong and his butch American lover are getting into it on the stationary bike. A collapsing floor, a germ-filled bike seat and awkward thrusting movements make for a funny make-out stint, but they’re not going to get the job done.

In the sand (beach sex sans a blanket): I don’t like the thought of a sand-covered penis slowly ripping my vagina open. Too graphic? Maybe. But hello, that shit hurts! [Editor's note: Um...ow.]

In the woods: If only this were as romantic as it sounds! However, a Poison Ivy covered private part is not my ideal way to wake up in the morning.

In your dorm room…when you’re roommate is in her bed 10 feet away: I’ve experienced some fairly traumatizing bed screeches and “YES YES YEEEEEEESSSS’s” in my day (thanks freshman pot-luck, sex-crazed roomie). Hey, I’m all for Pleasure Town, but dear God, please go there when I’m not in the room!

On the second floor balcony: If you read my post last week, you’ll know that though I am all for some balcony action, the second floor is simply too close for comfort. As said before, it’s not a pleasant site when your neighbors are laughing and enjoying their morning coffee one second and then are naked and having chair sex the next. Good morning! …I think not.

Please feel free to comment if you’ve ever personally experienced any of the previous traumatizing events. And if not, please feel free to comment regardless. If you want to know what He Said are the worst places to have sex, check it out on COED.

You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got someone in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch.

“You too?” You ask. She nods.

You head towards one of the over-stuffed chairs but reconsider and move towards a table. The last thing you want is to get too comfortable and fall asleep down here. You unpack your textbook, grab a highlighter and start reading. But after getting through 3 pages and realizing you have no idea what you just read, you close the book and start chatting it up with your fellow Sexilee. You vent, you complain, you commiserate. Then you see a boy walk past in the hallway and, thinking that must be the man of the evening, take that as your cue to head back upstairs.

When you approach the door you notice the note is still on the dry erase board but you reason that your roommate must have forgotten to wipe it off. To be safe, you knock. You hear some giggling.

“Come back in five minutes!” Your roommate calls from inside.

“Come on! It’s late!” You call. You know you sound ridiculous, but you just want to go to sleep, damnit.

“Five minutes!” You’re tempted to throw open the door and break up the little party, but the fear of seeing some guy’s bare butt stops you. So you put your bag on the floor, pop a squat and wait it out.

Not five, but fifteen minutes later, the music stops and the door opens. Startled (it seems you have dozed off) you jump up. Your roommate laughs and shoos her guest towards the elevator. You gather your things and drag yourself towards your bed. Finally, you can get some sleep.

Well, after your roommate gives you the 20 minute rundown of her evening romp, that is.

—

Yeah, we’ve all been there.
It’s annoying, it’s infuriating…but it feels DAMN good when you can get sweet Sexile revenge.

The Huffington Post created this gem of a slideshow several days ago.  Liz O’Neill claims that the usual reasons your roommates loathe you (you’re a slob, a mooch, etc.) are veils for deeper, subtler issues. Actually, they hate you because you are prettier than them. And, you’re going to make more money than them in a few years!

As I read this, I felt like I was listening to a mother stroke her child’s ego. The different hate-causing categories of behavior Ms. O’Neill gives are bizarre. And, based on my own college experiences, totally ludicrous (I mean, seriously? My roommates don’t like me because I have a diary? Seriously?).

So, here are the REAL 7 reasons your college roommates hate you. And sorry – we’re not going to sugar-coat these bad boys.

1.     You’re a Bad Drunk

You’re as sweet as candy during the day. But, after a few shots, you’re slurring your words. You’re cursing like a sailor. You’re losing all functionality in your limbs. As your roommates carry you home, vomit decorating your Sevens, you tell them you hate them and they all suck. The next morning, you feel awful, but you can’t understand why everyone’s so mad because you remember nothing. Well, newsflash: Your roommates hate you because, actually, you’re the one that really sucks.

2.     You’re a Kleptomaniac

When you’re getting ready for work in the morning, hours before your roommates roll out of bed, you steal some Bumble and Bumble hair product from the medicine cabinet. Later that night, when you’re craving a late-night study snack, you grab a bag of your pretzels. Ick, they’re stale. So, you eat your roommate’s instead. When you realize you ate an obvious amount, you throw a few of the stale ones into your roommate’s bag of Snyder’s. You never borrow anything massive, but all the little things add up daily. And she notices.

3.     You Have a 3^rd Roommate… Every Night

Visitors: You love them in the morning, and in the afternoon. You love them in the evening, and underneath the moon. Well, guess what? Your roommate doesn’t. She’s tired of getting sexiled the night before her Econ exam or looming research paper deadline. Learn to keep it in your pants or start dividing your time between your house and your special friend’s to ease the roommate tension.

4.     You’re Messy

Your hair is clogging the shower drain. You left your underwear and smelly workout clothes in the middle of the room. You snacked on some ice cream and frosting and left the dirty bowl and silverwear underneath the couch. You left your dirty pad on the bathroom floor. And now your roommate wants to go all Snooki WWE on you.

5.     You’re Always on the Phone

“OMG!! NO WAY…HE DID NOT!” you shout while your roommate tries to watch the episode of Glee she missed on her laptop. After you hang up, you hear a notification on your computer. Sammy wants to Skype! You click accept, and begin chatting away. We get it: staying in touch with home friends is important in college. However, be respectful of your roommate’s space. She doesn’t want to hear every little detail of Sammy’s life. Or the other 132 people you talk to weekly. Hold the phone (or video chat) until she’s out of the room.

6.     You Love the Snooze Button

Oh, you snoozed 7 times this morning? 3 hours before your roommate needed to be up for class? Yeah, I wonder why she’s pissed.

7.     You’re Passive Aggressive

When something is really bothering you (like the Klepto, Snooze-pressing, insanely sloppy roommate), you are cold. You monosyllabically answer their friendly questions. When they ask you what’s wrong, you say nothing. Welcome to the land of Passive Aggressivia. Population: You. If you want to stop disliking your roommate, you need to actually let them know they are doing something that’s bothering you instead of hoping they’ll get the message. Speak up and you’ll quickly be on the road to a better college-living life.

Freshman year is an incredible experience. For many, it’s the first taste of Keystone freedom, the first foray into frat parties out into the world. You‘ll drink with meet people from all walks of life. You’ll quickly wonder how you ever survived without your newfound friends.

But be warned: for every awesome new friend that you make, you’ll find yourself face to face with an enemy. Not a “sleep with one eye open” enemy; more like a “OMG I want to gouge out my eyes whenever you come near me” type.

Here are my personal picks for people to avoid:

The “Busy” Roommate- The first parent-free weekend, I was woken up by the rhythmic creaking of my roommate’s lofted bed. The second week of classes, I was woken up on Thursday night by a guy pounding on the door looking for her around 3 A.M, and she came in the following morning trailing a (different) guy from my English class. If you’re really lucky, you won’t be woken up like I was – you’ll be permanently sexiled. It’s not like you need to get into your room or anything, right?

The Bad RA- A good RA should have a balance of helpfulness and friendliness. She’s not supposed to be your best friend, but she’s also not supposed to be so aloof that you can’t relate to her either. Some RAs are overzealous, which can be more than a little annoying; like the RA who refused to start the floor meeting until all forty girls were present, even though the missing person had a legitimate reason for her absence. Even worse, though, was the RA who was so high he didn’t notice that there was an orgy going on in my friend’s room, nor did he realize my friend was out in the hall with a pillow at 4 A.M because he was trying to figure out where he could get some sleep.

The Sporadic Professor- This professor is out to prove you’re no longer in high school by giving you regular and difficult assignments. But, in order to make sure you do them, he’ll only grade them sporadically. It doesn’t sound as bad now, but it will be when you finally decide to skip on the ONE day he decides to check.

The Neighbor With the Subwoofer- Okay, I love music as much as the next person, and I love blasting it whenever I can. However, when you’re living in a building with other people, there are certain courtesies to be paid. Like not blasting your music on a crazy bass system that shakes surrounding walls, floors, and ceilings….at 11pm…during finals. This is grounds for justifiable homicide.

The Extremely Messy/Neat Roommate- Either extreme can be deadly, depending on what you’re like. I’ve seen these two paired together before and and it was the closest I’ve ever seen to an in-your-face war. If your roommate falls into one of these two categories, you will definitely have a problem. You’ll either want to strangle her for those passive-aggressive comments about how neat and tidy her side of the room is, or you’ll want to strangle her anytime her crap (read: dirty undies) creeps over to your side..

The Peter Pan Queen Bee- This girl has somehow managed to establish herself as the Queen Bee of the group/hall/floor. She chooses who’s worthy of hanging out with her and her followers, and is fickle about who she keeps around. Essentially, she hasn’t gotten the memo that high school is over. As a result, your grown-up college life will be fraught with the exact same drama you thought you’d left behind – petty gossip, rules about who you can and can’t socialize with, backstabbing, and other not-so-fun pastimes.

Crazy Drunk Naked Guy- Okay, so this one may not drive you crazy in the same way, but I do promise it will scar you for life. This guy is the reason you are warned repeatedly to double and triple-check your locks at night. The one night my roomie and I didn’t, a drunk, high, naked guy showed up in our room after relieving himself in the hallway, then refused to leave. Variations of the Crazy Drunk Naked Guy include 2 A.M streakers, the frat boy who peed in the fridge, and the guy who stood in the doorway watching the girls sleep.

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

After four long and frustrating years of sexual tension, my high school crush and I finally had our first hot makeout sesh the first week of college. That is if you consider making out with some nature special about tarantulas playing in the background to be hot. Regardless, it happened and I was oh so excited. I didn’t want to take things too far that first night, so I acted coy, pushed him away, buttoned up my shirt and left.

We spent the next week flirting on IM and, since he lived in the dorm next to me, running into each other randomly on the way to class. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t so random. Maybe I spent a lot of time outside hoping he’d walk by. Either way, he called me on a Friday night and asked if he could come over.

My roommate packed a bag for the night and shipped off to our friend’s futon down the hall. She was so excited for me, but even more excited to have her first official Sexiling. I, on the other hand, was nervous for the events to come. I had never really done much with a guy before that, so the fear of doing something wrong or, worse, letting him know how inexperienced I was took over. I paced the 10X12 room as I waited for him to call. I lit some candles then blew them out. I created a playlist to set the mood then deleted it. I changed my outfit 4 times.

And then the phone rang.

He was outside the side door of the building and asked me to come down and let him in. I took one last look in the mirror, gave myself a little pep talk (“You’ve practiced on a popsicle – blow jobs can’t be that hard!”) and ran down the four flights of stairs to let him in.

Somewhere around the second landing my stomach started to hurt. All my life my stomach was the first part of me to react to nerves, and at that particular moment, it was reacting with a vengeance.

“I’m going to crap my pants,” I thought to myself. “I can’t have him come to my room and then leave him there while I run to the bathroom to poop.” I had to take care of it immediately.

I ran (literally) to the public bathroom on the main floor of my dorm and made it just in time. The minute I sat down, my nerves exploded into the bowl. I probably could have and should have stayed in there a little longer, but I couldn’t make the boy wait forever. I cleaned up, washed my hands and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

After letting the boy into the building, we made our way back to the stairs to head to my room.
“Oh my god,” he said as we walked past the bathroom. “Someone should really do something about that smell.”

Mortified, I pushed him along, my stomachache returning. We eventually made it to my room where we put on the TV and snuggled in bed. That is, until I could hold it no longer and had to excuse myself to use the bathroom on my hall.
When I came back, green in the face, I told him I wasn’t feeling well and sent him back to his dorm.

My roommate slept down the hall that night while I slept alone with a heating pad on my stomach. I didn’t experience my first real college hook up and she didn’t get her first real Sexile. She was poopiled.

I poopiled my roommate.
Totally pathetic.

[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 had a feeling my roommate situation was going to be interesting this year when the first thing she tells me after meeting me is, “I like to sleep naked.”

It all started on an innocent Sunday night in my routine of “Get up, survive, go back to bed.” I had a math test to cram into my brain for Monday afternoon, so I was in the dorm room jamming away on my calculator and re-learning weeks of notes when I heard the door open. My roommate sauntered into the room with a friend. A man-friend.  A man-friend who I’ve never met before.  A man-friend who I earlier heard her on the phone arguing with.

I knew she had bad taste in guys but, God damn! This guy was sprawled out on my futon (as in the futon I bought myself, but we share because that’s what roommates do) telling her he wanted the Gatorade he saw (MY Gatorade) and making fun of playfully teasing her. Nice guy, eh?  I was blatantly annoyed and semi-nauseated seeing them canoodling on the futon while it was plainly obvious I had an assload of work to do.

I decided the only way I could avoid hearing them make out so I could study for my exam keep my sanity was to leave the room and let them play doctor, or whatever it was they felt like doing (probably angry make-up sex).

I spent the next two and a half hours being sexiled in the downstairs dorm lobby studying for math and pining for a sex life of my own.  Key words being “two and a half hours.”  That’s what athletes probably call a marathon of bone-age.  But good for her, I guess; at least one of us was getting some action.

Finally, as I was nearly passing out on my notebook, I saw the guy step off the elevator. I returned to my room, peeled off my sweats and put on my sleeping sweats, and went to bed.

A week later I came back to my dorm with a man-friend of my own on a late night. Except for the difference being he is purely a FRIEND, meaning he slept on the futon and I slept in my bed.  The next morning he woke up, and while putting on his shirt he noticed something on the futon.

“Uh.” He turned to me. “Did you know you have a jizz stain on the futon?”
“No way,” I replied, walking over to him.
“Oh that’s jizz alright.  Trust me, I’m a guy.”

I followed his pointing finger and there it was: a dried white stain the size of a quarter right in the middle of my green futon.  MINE. I was furious. I was disgusted. Really, really disgusted. I mean, the girl had her own bed. WTF?

I wanted to fist pump my roommate in the face. Unfortunately, I only used my words. But that must have worked, because I haven’t seen that asshat since. And hopefully I never will because he’s too busy skeeting on SOMEONE ELSE’S futon.

If someone were to ask me what was the worst day of my life to date, I would have to take them back to freshman year.  I was young and naive and spent the better part of that fateful day being scammed by a nice man on the telephone who told me I had won a diamond watch and a trip to Hawaii. Thankfully, my roommate walked in just as I was reciting my credit card and social security numbers into the phone. She promptly snatched the phone away from me, called the guy a few choice names, and saved me from a world of shame.

After that poor display of gullibility, I decided to stay in that Friday night to work on my studies and perhaps regain a little pride in myself. It figures that the one night I decide to stay in, my roommate comes back to the room at 3 a.m. and tries to sexile me. Woken from a sound sleep, I had no desire to relocate. So I did what any other good roommate would do: I broke out the trusty iPod, cranked up the jams, and let them have their fun.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up early that morning being strangled by my own headphones. Gasping for breath, I looked over to see the cause of this sudden asphyxiation. As it turns out, a late-night guest made his way into my bed and was laying on top of my headphones, slowly killing me in my sleep. But the screaming only began when I realized it was none other than my roommate’s boyfriend laying in bed with me.

I was screaming, he was screaming, and loudest of all, my roommate was screaming. She began hitting both of us over and over again, cursing us out and throwing a fit. Who can blame her? The scene did not look good. I jumped out of bed in order to avoid her whaling and landed in a puddle. As if things couldn’t get worse, the scent of urine wafted up into my nostrils and things began to fall into place.

The night’s timeline went something like this: The boyfriend had awoken in the middle of the night with the strong urge to urinate. But instead of attempting to find the bathroom, he decided that there was no time like the present and whipped it out right then and there. And when I say there, I mean right on my freshly printed out paper for my 8 a.m. class, placed delicately atop a stack of books next to my desk. It was like he aimed to kill. After defiling the product of my sober Friday night in, he climbed into bed with me and forcibly spooned me all night long.

The next morning, not only did I have to deal with canceling a credit card, a yellow-stained 5-page paper and a near-death encounter, but I had to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing urine out of the floor and explaining to my roommate that, no, I was definitely not trying to steal her barbaric boyfriend. And no, we most certainly did not hook up.

[You got a a good "Morning After" story to share? Send it to over and we'll post it (anonymously, of course)! Do it! It can't be worse than crossing borders for booty....]

You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got a boy in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch.

“You too?” You ask. She nods.

You head towards one of the over-stuffed chairs but reconsider and move towards a table. The last thing you want is to get too comfortable and fall asleep down here. You unpack your textbook, grab a highlighter and start reading. But after getting through 3 pages and realizing you have no idea what you just read, you close the book and start chatting it up with your fellow Sexilee. You vent, you complain, you commiserate. Then you see a boy walk past in the hallway and, thinking that must be the man of the evening, take that as your cue to head back upstairs.

When you approach the door you notice the note is still on the dry erase board but you reason that your roommate must have forgotten to wipe it off. To be safe, you knock. You hear some giggling.

“Come back in five minutes!” Your roommate calls from inside.

“Come on! It’s late!” You call. You know you sound ridiculous, but you just want to go to sleep, damnit.

“Five minutes!” You’re tempted to throw open the door and break up the little party, but the fear of seeing some guy’s bare butt stops you. So you put your bag on the floor, pop a squat and wait it out.

Not five, but fifteen minutes later, the music stops and the door opens. Startled (it seems you have dozed off) you jump up. Your roommate laughs and shoos her boy towards the elevator. You gather your things and drag yourself towards your bed. Finally, you can get some sleep.

Well, after your roommate gives you the 20 minute rundown of her evening romp, that is.

Yeah, we’ve all been there.
It’s annoying, it’s infuriating…and it feels good when you can get sweet Sexile revenge.

But dorm-room sex is just as challenging for the non-practicing roommate. Allow me to paint you a word mural:

You’re trekking home to your room after an excruciating night in the library. Your bed is calling your name from across campus, and it’s taking all of your energy just to make it back. Just as you are opening the door and can practically feel your blanket’s sweet embrace wrapped around your body, the familiar moans and grunts of your roommate and her ape-like boyfriend ring like fire alarms in your ears. Sexiled again.

You have two choices: Make your presence known and hope they cease and desist or opt for headphones and heavy metal. Or you can face your fate and spend the night tossing and turning on the cardboard-like couch in the lounge.

Well, if you’re a student at Tufts University, the weight of this hefty decision has been taken off your shoulders once and for all. Under a new ResLife policy, students are not allowed to engage in sexual activity while their roommates are in the room.

Personally, I think that Tufts is sticking its nose in business that should be discussed and decided between roommates themselves. Instituting a sex policy that is virtually un-enforceable seems a bit extreme. And unless the horny couple actually wants an audience to cheer them on, I think they would wait for privacy anyway, with or without the existence of a formal policy mandating it.

Common courtesy dictates that no roommate should have to be a witness to lovemaking that is not their own (unless, of course, they’re into that sort of thing), but I feel sorry for the freshman male who gets paired with a hermit roommate that never leaves the solitude of their room.  Soon dorm-room sex will be replaced with bumping uglies in the bushes and humping on top of the dining hall.

So Tufts, what is more disturbing? Public displays of fornication or a slight rocking from the top bunk? Instituting this sex-policy seems like a slippery slope. Next they’ll be outlawing co-ed sleepovers and issuing chastity belts. Stay out of my sex life, ResLife, and I’ll stay out of yours.