It’s the start of a new school year and to honor that, we at CollegeCandy are bringing back the fan-favorite series, “We’ve All Been There.”  (We tried to get another national holiday/long weekend for you guys but it’s way harder than we thought so this will have to do.) Every week, Lauren – University of Michigan will comment on the common experiences all college women share – like trying to figure out if that boy is crushin’ too or stupid group projects. Read, relate, cringe and enjoy.

Your 10 page paper on the complete works of Shakespeare is due in less than a week. You vowed to spend all of Sunday at the library working on it, but an impromptu beer pong tournament broke out at your house on Saturday night and you were so busy eating Oreo Cakesters and chugging Vitaminwater that the entire day passed you by. Now it’s crunch time and you have no choice but to bang it out.

You decide not to waste any time, so you skip the long walk to the library and work at home. You tell your roommates not to bother you, lock the door to your room and settle in for some serious paper writing.

Only your desk is really messy. You can’t focus when you don’t even have space to spread out your books. So you clean it. Twenty minutes and a garbage can full of papers later, you decide to take out the trash. But before you do that, you might as well make sure there isn’t anything else that needs to be thrown away. You begin to clean your room. Once it is clean, you tell yourself, you will be able to focus.

As you pick up the pile of clothes next to your bed, though, you find your camera and are soon sitting on the bed flipping through photos from Saturday night. There are some real doozies on there and you have to share them. It won’t take long to post them on Facebook, right? You’ll just do that quickly and then get to the paper.

You load the photos online. Then you tag them. Then you caption them. Then you scroll through your newsfeed to see what everyone else is doing as you sit here on this Tiki Tuesday writing a stupid paper. You look through a few friends’ photo albums, you peruse the profile of the cute guy in one of the pictures, you message your friend asking her if he’s single.

“Sh*t,” you think to yourself. “I really have to get started on this paper.” You log off Facebook and prepare yourself to start writing.

But now you are hungry. You really didn’t eat much today, so you run downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal. As you are pouring your Frosted Mini Wheats into the bowl, your roommate walks in. You haven’t seen her all day, so you decide to eat the cereal with her quickly and then get moving on the paper.

Only it isn’t quick. You end up talking about Saturday night, the cute guy you just found on Facebook and what she should wear to the Tiki Tuesday party. Before you know it, you are up in her room rifling through her closet for the perfect “cute but not trying too hard” outfit.

Then you are on her computer looking at all the pictures you just posted.
Then you are helping her clean her room.
Then you are back in the kitchen doing all the dishes in the sink.
Then you are making coffee so you can stay up all night working on this paper.
Then you are looking for any excuse left not to sit down and write the damn thing.

By the time you actually make it back to your room, it is far too late to start writing. So you start rationalizing. “I would only get, like, a paragraph done tonight. And I work better under pressure, anyway. I’ll just skip lecture tomorrow and work on it then.”

So, you pull on a pair of PJs and head to the living room to watch some TV with the girls. You still have a few days left until the paper is due. You’ll work on it tomorrow. Promise.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. In college, there is nothing quite like the last minute.

My friend called me her favorite Oreo.

“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes.

I’m not meant to be categorized or labeled. Try to put me in a box and I’ll do my best to claw my way out, because I just don’t belong in one.

I understand that people use phrases like these to joke around. I do have a sense of humor buried somewhere under the tirades and attempts at being politically correct. Still, the time I was called an Oreo fits in with other times people have acted like I, for some reason, don’t seem like a member of my race. “I don’t think of you as a black person,” is one I’ve gotten a few times. And then there’s the “you’re so pretty, you don’t even look like a black girl!” Uh, thanks?

I used to stay quiet when people would say things about my race that they thought would boost my ego, as though I should be happy if I didn’t fit in with black people. Well, my days of avoiding these confrontations are over. My silence insinuates that I agree with the statements people are making, and take pride in the fact that I’ve got a little “white” in me. And I definitely don’t. I’m proud of who I am. Even if I could wave a magic wand and change some part of me, it would never be my race.  I wouldn’t want my skin to be even a smidgen of a shade lighter.

In fact, the only thing I’d want is Beyonce’s derriere. But who wouldn’t?

[This story was originally posted by Zahra - Northwestern.]

Check out more of our favorite posts!

Week after week (after week after week…), CollegeCandy and our pal John bring you some of the weirdest, funniest, and saddest things he hears on his college campus. And we know he’s not the only one who hears this stuff. Join the Overheard revolution! Listen in on some weirdos’ conversations and share them in the comments or send ‘em over. You know there’s a lot of funny things to be heard on your campus, so get listening.

(Frat guy, at a party.)

Guy: Okay, everyone! Dicks up, boy couch!

(Two guys in class, before lecture starts.)

Guy 1: My girlfriend broke up with me, and sent me pictures of her and her new boyfriend in bed.

Guy 2: Ouch.

Guy 1: Yeah, I sent them to her dad.

(Girl at a party.)

Girl: C’mon, let’s get out of here!

Guy: We can’t. You’re wasted. Let’s stay here.

Girl: I’m not that drunk. (Passes out into a pile of empties.)

(Guy, at one end of a long table in a diner.)

Guy: Yo, can someone pass me the cat?

Girl: What?

Guy: The jelly. Pass me the jelly.

(Guys, studying in the library.)

Guy 1: Shakespeare got to make up whatever words he wanted.

Guy 2: Like “s***dick.”

Guy 1: What? No, he didn’t.

Guy 2: He sure did. Never used it in his plays, though.

(Guy, on the phone.)

Guy: Guess what? Last night a BJ saved my life.

(Girl and guy, in the dining hall.)

Guy: Can you get me some soda?

Girl: No. I’m not your secretary.

Guy: Sure you are. Get me a Coke, titmittens.

(Girl and a guy, sitting in Taco Bell.)

Guy: You want to have sex after this?

Girl: Nah, I’m pretty full.

(Two guys, sitting on the shuttle bus.)

Guy 1: Hey, excuse me.

Guy 2: Huh?

Guy 1: Our butts just touched. Sorry about that.

(Two girls and a guy, talking in the dining hall.)

Girl 1: Would you want to be a guy for, like, a day?

Girl 2: I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to feel my genitalia outside of my body.

Guy: You get used to it.

(Girl and a guy, reading the newspaper.)

Girl: Look. It’s you. (pointing)

Guy: Not really?

Girl: Yeah, if you were a little five-foot tall Nazi.

(Girl, alone at a check-out counter, with a bag of beans.)

Girl: I like beans.

Week after week (after week after week…), CollegeCandy and our pal John bring you some of the weirdest, funniest, and saddest things he hears on his college campus. And we know he’s not the only one who hears this stuff. Join the Overheard revolution! Listen in on some weirdos’ conversations and share them in the comments or send ‘em over to us to put in next week’s post.

(Two guys, in an English class.)

Guy 1: Dude, why are you dressed up?

Guy 2: We’re reading “The Crucible.” It’s about a town that gets rid of all its witches. That’s why I have the hat.

(Guy, singing at a party.)

Guy: Ooh, I get Boggle with help from my friends. Mm, gonna Boggle with help from my friends. Do you neee-eeed any Boggle? I want some Boggle to love.

(English professor, thinking out loud.)

Prof: See, I wouldn’t count myself as a human being until, oh, about 15 or 16. And even that was problematic.

(Girl, watching a boffer club practice.)

Girl: I’m afraid that if I went over and talked to them, I’d just fall in love with how stupid and terrible and depressing they all are.

(Girl and guy talking on the street.)

Guy: Ugh, my phone’s dead.

Girl: Did you hook up with someone last night?

(Girl, smoking outside a dorm.)

Girl: Bo ho ho! Bwo ho ho ho! I’m Princess Leia, and I loooove sour cream!

(Two guys, in a newspaper office.)

Guy 1: Hey, did you make some coffee?

Guy 2: Yes. Don’t take any, or you’re fired.

Guy 1: I already had some, actually.

Guy 2: You’re fired. Wait, when did it start raining? That was you. You’re fired again.

(People in a Shakespeare class.)

Prof: What is everyone’s favorite Shakespeare play, anyway?

Student 1:  Romeo and Juliet.

Student 2: I guess… Romeo and Juliet.

Student 3: Romeo and Juliet.

Student 4: I like a lot of them, but I’d have to say Romeo and Juliet is my favorite.

Student 5: Romeo and Juliet – it’s just so unique!

(Linguistics professor, introducing a grammar topic.)

Prof: This is grammar. Grammar is not love. It’s sphincter-like.

(Kid in a class.)

Guy: Professor, I’m sorry I wasn’t in class last week. I was sick with Hulu.

(Two guys, talking outside the Student Union.)

Guy 1: I’m going to D.C. this weekend.

Guy 2: Oh man! Visiting your girlfriend? Dude, invite me. I love your girlfriend.

Guy 1: Uh, okay -

Guy 2: She’s so awesome! Man, why doesn’t she spend more time up here?

Guy 1: Um. Okay.

“You know,” she said, “black on the outside, white on the inside.”

I gaped at her, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to that. She thought she was genuinely complimenting me. I mean, I don’t even like Oreos.

We had just gotten our SAT scores back and I had done really well, surprising even myself at how much knowledge cramming I had retained. But apparently my friend thought scoring well on a standardized test is something that doesn’t fit with the black race. I just changed the subject because I didn’t want to seem touchy or like a drama queen, but instances like these have happened to me so many times. I’m fed up!

Do I get classified as an Oreo because I’m a voracious reader (apparently all those SAT flashcards paid off)? Or because I might seem reserved when you first meet me? Or is because of one of the other billion facets of my personality? Yes, I would seriously contemplate selling my soul to be front and center at a Lil Wayne concert, but I also can’t help but belt out Taylor Swift songs when they come on the radio. Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston both have works on my list of favorite literature, as do Shakespeare and Jodi Picoult. Oh, and if you see me out dancing, I might be bouncing around to the latest hip hop song, but I could just as easily be showing off some complicated salsa step I learned during the two years that I took salsa classes.

I’m not meant to be categorized or labeled. Try to put me in a box and I’ll do my best to claw my way out, because I just don’t belong in one.

I understand that people use phrases like these to joke around. I do have a sense of humor buried somewhere under the tirades and attempts at being politically correct. Still, the time I was called an Oreo fits in with other times people have acted like I, for some reason, don’t seem like a member of my race. “I don’t think of you as a black person,” is one I’ve gotten a few times. And then there’s the “you’re so pretty, you don’t even look like a black girl!” Uh, thanks?

I used to stay quiet when people would say things about my race that they thought would boost my ego, as though I should be happy if I didn’t fit in with black people. Well, my days of avoiding these confrontations are over. My silence insinuates that I agree with the statements people are making, and take pride in the fact that I’ve got a little “white” in me. And I definitely don’t. I’m proud of who I am. Even if I could wave a magic wand and change some part of me, it would never be my race.  I wouldn’t want my skin to be even a smidgen of a shade lighter.

In fact, the only thing I’d want is Beyonce’s derriere. But who wouldn’t?

[Every week, CC and John bring you some of the weirdest, funniest, saddest things he hears on his college campus. Join the Overheard revolution!Leave your own overheard convos in the comments or send ‘em over!]

(Girls, watching a performance in a public park.)

Girl 1: So, you know what’s way better than all of us having sex together?

Girl 2: Playing with our fake puppies.

Girl 1: Yup.

(Three girls sitting on futons at a party)

Girl 1: You know “Groundhog Day”?

Girl 2: Wait, that’s the one with the newspaper guy, right? And the sled?

Girl 3: No. No, that’s “Citizen Kane.”

(A guy, talking to a girl in Friendly’s.)

Guy: Listen, I’m chivalrous, but I’m not a martyr. I’m not gonna give you my cherry just because you ask for it.

(Girl, talking to her boyfriend in an apartment hallway.)

Girl: Put the hat on and turn around. Please?

Guy: Why?

Girl: When I can’t see your face, I can fantasize that you’re Mr. Darcy.

(A woman, yelling from behind a McDonald’s counter)

Woman: Okay, boy! We are going nowhere until you give me my money!

Young boy: It’s not about money! It’s about my pride!

(Two guys, sitting in some athletic bleachers.)

Guy 1: I can’t go, I’ve gotta show up at my sister’s graduation.

Guy 2: Oh. Yeah, me too. Well, I have to go to my sisters “fail-to-graduate-then-lock-herself-in-her-room-screaming-and-eating-Cheezits-until-we-buy-her-a-new-puppy.” We had one last year.

(Three guys, arguing loudly in a pizza restaurant.)

Guy 1: Genghis Khan.

Guy 2: Teddy Roosevelt.

Guy 3: Patton.

Guy 2: Uh, Nikola Tesla.

Guy 1: Abraham Lincoln?

Guy 3: Bill Nye the Science Guy.

(pause)

Guy 1: Fine. You win.

(Two girls talking from the other side of a gas pump.)

Girl: You know, I feel like everyone I see at a gas station is a hooker.

(Guy, pulling up to the sidewalk in a pickup truck.)

Guy: Man, what are you doing? Get in here, dude, we’re hitting up the Timex museum!

(Guy and a girl, walking down a busy main road.)

Guy: Wait, it’s called “All’s Well That Ends Well”?

Girl: It’s Shakespeare!

Guy: Bulls***. What, did he write “Look Both Ways Before Crossing The Street” too?

(Guy, standing in front of a mall parking lot, on a cell phone.)

Guy: I’m in the parking garage. No, the parking garage … ! How stupid are you? Come on!

Sure, it may be full of exclusive tips that you are dying to learn and try out on your man, but can you really muster the moxie to pay for it along with a bottle of water and box of pens?

“What if the cashier thinks I have an oral-fixation that I need to feed in between classes by learning how to properly fellate a fellow?” The embarrassment would be akin to buying the economy-size box of tampons at the grocery store while still in your PMS PJs.

But, now I wonder: what other hidden treasures can I find in the bookstore that I’m too scared to plunk down the cash for in public?

Unhooked: How Young Women Pursue Sex, Delay Love, and Lose at Both
What it’s about: So, do you think that by hooking up you’re being sexually empowered and going after what you want for a change? Not so, says Laura Sessions Stepp. She “follows three groups of young women over the course of an academic year to discover what hooking up is all about. She attends class with them, parties with them, and listens to them talk about their sexual encounters – coming away with some enlightening and disturbing insights into sexuality.”

What it tells the cashier: I am sorta slutty and I want to know the repercussions.

Confessions of an Heiress: A Tongue in Chic Peek Behind the Pose and That Extra Half an Inch: Hair, Heels and Everything in Between
What They’re About: This is a two-fer because either of these books would make me feel like a chihuahua carrying, air-headed attention whore… with really cute shoes. However, Paris Hilton’s Confessions of an Heiress: A Tongue in Chic Peek Behind the Pose lures me in with it’s sparkly cover, clever title pun and full-page, colored pictures. Unfortunately, much like the author herself, this book is really pretty on the outside, but lacks any substance on the inside. A similar book, That Extra Half an Inch: Hair, Heels and Everything in Between, is Mrs. David Beckham’s attempt at literature. It has tips on how to wear your LBD, find awesome bargains and gives you space to make notes about your favorite fashion tricks. It’s a pretty hefty book for the price and I’d wager the spine is thicker than Vickie’s waist.

What it tells the cashier: I’m a moron with a really great closet.

Die Happy: 499 Thing’s Every Guy’s Gotta Do While He Still Can
What it’s about: A what-to-do guide written for men, by men, that gives great insight into what these crazy creatures really want in life. While my Bucket List contains dreams of visting Paris, getting a Masters degree and celebrating New Years in Times Square, this book reveals that guys’ dreams top out at swimming with sharks, taking a job as a cab driver and playing drunk golf. A funny read and peek inside the male mind, this book makes me feel a little like a dirty voyeur…and I kinda like it.

What it tells the cashier: I’m a dirty voyeur… and also slighty weird for wanting to delve this deeply into the male mind.

Filthy Shakespeare: Shakespeare’s Most Outrageous Sexual Puns
What it’s about: Desperate to develop an interest in Shakespeare so you aren’t bored to death during that section in Lit?  This is a book for the easily distracted student whose dirty mind reads too deep into a silly coincidence. Who knew that Shakespeare wanted the word “all” to be pronounced like “hole” and the word “wit” was meant to represent the vajay. Naughty, Willy!

What it tells the cashier: I think the word Willy is funny. Tee hee.

I Lick My Cheese
What it’s about: If you live with filthy, annoying roommates, then this book is right up your alley! It may just be a picture book, but its compilation of photos of notes left by roomies that will have you laughing in the aisles. Sure, it’s not a book of merit where you’re going to learn anything useful or look like a studious co-ed, but who doesn’t love reading notes about poop in an unflushed toilet?

What it tells the cashier: My mom gave me money to buy books and I’m buying a picture book. About poop.

So maybe these books will make you blush when you decide to have the cashier ring them up, but they may also provide hours of entertainment. If your brain is tired of slogging through chapters on the Great Depression, maybe its time for a little hilarity.

And you can always order them online, or just try to do what I do: grab one of these books, pull your hoodie down over your eyes, throw cash at the counter and run away screaming.

Hey, don’t judge me!

Your 10 page paper on the complete works of Shakespeare is due in less than a week. You vowed to spend all of Sunday at the library working on it, but an impromptu beer pong tournament broke out at your house on Saturday night and you were so busy eating Oreo Cakesters and chugging Vitaminwater that the entire day passed you by. Now it’s crunch time and you have no choice but to bang it out.

You decide not to waste any time, so you skip the long walk to the library and work at home. You tell your roommates not to bother you, lock the door to your room and settle in for some serious paper writing.

Only your desk is really messy. You can’t focus when you don’t even have space to spread out your books. So you clean it. Twenty minutes and a garbage can full of papers later, you decide to take out the trash. But before you do that, you might as well make sure there isn’t anything else that needs to be thrown away. You begin to clean your room. Once it is clean, you tell yourself, you will be able to focus.

As you pick up the pile of clothes next to your bed, though, you find your camera and are soon sitting on the bed flipping through photos from Saturday night. There are some real doozies on there and you have to share them. It won’t take long to post them on Facebook, right? You’ll just do that quickly and then get to the paper.

You load the photos online. Then you tag them. Then you caption them. Then you scroll through your newsfeed to see what everyone else is doing as you sit here on this Tiki Tuesday writing a stupid paper. You look through a few friends’ photo albums, you peruse the profile of the cute guy in one of the pictures, you message your friend asking her if he’s single.

“Sh*t,” you think to yourself. “I really have to get started on this paper.” You log off Facebook and prepare yourself to start writing.

But now you are hungry. You really didn’t eat much today, so you run downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal. As you are pouring your Frosted Mini Wheats into the bowl, your roommate walks in. You haven’t seen her all day, so you decide to eat the cereal with her quickly and then get moving on the paper.

Only it isn’t quick. You end up talking about Saturday night, the cute guy you just found on Facebook and what she should wear to the Tiki Tuesday party. Before you know it, you are up in her room rifling through her closet for the perfect “cute but not trying too hard” outfit.

Then you are on her computer looking at all the pictures you just posted.
Then you are helping her clean her room.
Then you are back in the kitchen doing all the dishes in the sink.
Then you are making coffee so you can stay up all night working on this paper.
Then you are looking for any excuse left not to sit down and write the damn thing.

By the time you actually make it back to your room, it is far too late to start writing. So you start rationalizing. “I would only get, like, a paragraph done tonight. And I work better under pressure, anyway. I’ll just skip lecture tomorrow and work on it then.”

So, you pull on apair of PJs and head to the living room to watch some TV with the girls. You still have a few days left until the paper is due. You’ll work on it tomorrow. Promise.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. In college, there is nothing quite like the last minute.

[It doesn’t matter what school you go to, what state it is in, how big it is, whether it is public or private, all girls or coed…there are experiences that all college students share.

No matter how crazy you think your personal situation is, it is not just you. So, let’s bring it all out in the open. Right here. Because you are not alone - we’ve all been there before.]

There are many moments in a college student’s existence that are shared by other students around the globe, but none more common than the All Nighter.

You know on the first day of class that there will be a 12-page paper due this Friday. You highlighted it, and put it in your planner. But as the weeks went by – and you sorta stopped showing up for class – you kept pushing the paper off. “I’ll start it this weekend,” you tell yourself a week before it’s due.

But the weekend comes, and with it comes an impromptu house party at your place Friday night, a long recap/hangover session on Saturday, a birthday party Saturday night and work on Sunday. No time for a paper.

You assure yourself that you will do it a little each night this week, but it takes you until Wednesday to realize that heading to the library with the girls and a bag of Baked Lays is not the best way to be productive.

So, now it’s Thursday and the 12-page paper is looming. You scarf down some dinner, say TTFN to the roomies (who are pre-drinking for Thirsty Thursday), and embark on a long-ass night of research and paper writing.

You stop at the drug store on the way and pick up a few things: a couple Red Bulls, a bottle of water, a bag of chips and a Snickers bar. The combination of sugar and caffeine should get you through. When you arrive at the library (because there is no way in hell you’d get this paper done at home), you run past the scene in the reading room and scope out a quiet table in the middle of nowhere so you can’t be distracted. You unpack all of your things, spread them out on the table, turn on your laptop (and turn off your AIM), and get all settled in when you realize that the table you are sitting at is not near an outlet.

Eff.

So, you pack everything back up and find another place to sit.

The first 2 hours go by quickly and you get a lot done: you have the thesis, you have a plan, and now you just have to get writing. You drink a Red Bull and pump out 1.5 pages in the next 30 minutes. And then you crash and start drooling on your keyboard. It’s a war between you and your brain, but you know you must win. You get up, walk around a bit, then come back to write some more.

At some point near about 3am, you eat a little more sugar and pump out the rest of the paper. Your hands are shaking, your eyes are teary, and you are pretty sure you just compared Shakespeare to Will I. Am., but at least you are getting this thing done.

At 5am you finally finish the first draft. It is time to review but you can’t keep your eyes open. You begin to have an internal battle: “If I don’t go home and get some sleep I am going to be a zombie and won’t be able to contribute in class anyway, but if I don’t review the paper and make edits it is totally gonna suck. But, sleep is great. But grades are great. But my bed is so warm and comfy, and this chair sucks, but nothing sucks more than failing this stupid class….”

At some point you pass out.

Eventually you are startled awake (head on desk isn’t very comfortable) and have just under an hour to finish the paper, print it and turn it in.  You are running on pure adrenaline at this point – running from computer to printer to desk to class. You get the paper in just in time, then sneak out of the back of the lecture hall to crawl back into your bed for the rest of the day.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. And don’t worry; we didn’t look as cute and put together as the girl in the picture, either.

You can always tell who in your class is a Drama major. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as much of a fan of the theatre as the next guy, but there is something very distinct about those who major in the department.

Unlike the business kids or the engineers, the Drama Major is bound to be in one or many of your classes. And he or she will be there with at least 3 of their fellow thesbians. Practicing their lines. You may not be able to recognize them by what they wear, but their overly dramatic speeches (and stage makeup) will surely tip you off.

When called on to answer a question, the Drama Major will turn the moment into a well-practiced soliloquy. They will use hand gestures, complete sentences and enunciate every last syllable. And when called on to read a passage aloud, they will take the opportunity to turn the classroom into a theater. The Drama Major will read with pauses, motions, and may even add different character voices, if the passage calls for it.

If there is a performance or show coming up, the Drama Major will be sure to take the last few moments of class time to announce it to the entire group, giving the dates and times of every single performance before putting on their iPod (that is filled with show tunes, obviously), dramatically exiting the room and running to practice.

They will not be at school sporting events (there are far more important things – like Shakespeare – to attend to), or the biggest parties on campus. Drama kids tend to stick to their own kind and often opt for a more chill evening of beers and fellow dramatics.

But just because you don’t see ‘em making out in dark corners of a frat party doesn’t mean they aren’t there. They are. And you will encounter them and their overly look-at-me-I’m-so-entertaining ways at some point during your college career.