Everyone in college can recall their “worst night” (the night they end up passed out in a pile of woodchips, or walking home at 8AM with a banana costume on), but unfortunately for us, all four of my roommates had ours on the same night.

It was a brisk fall evening, my roommates and I were fully stocked on booze, and there was a very lovely and crowded double kegger down the street. We didn’t even need to get a taxi to get there!  This night was looking good. Only, in reality, the night was a recipe for pure destruction: two of us were recently single, and the other two were well-seasoned single ladies who’d had a long week of studying.  Excited, we each pounded five drinks before even leaving the house.

Upon arriving, we already thought we were the best dancers in the universe and we were feeling pretty good about the previously (now about seven) consumed drinks.  The party was full of cute college boys and girls we knew, the music was loud and, 99% of the time, we were raising the roof and having the “epic night” we had planned for.  The drinking ensued.

Suddenly as quickly as you can say “pop, lock, and drop it” the epic night my roomies had been hoping to endure began to unravel. It began with the cops deciding to join the (mostly underage) party and ended with…. well, let me break the story down by roommate so it’s easier to follow.

Roommate #1 (We will call her “Kristine”)

The entire night, Kristine had been hoping to meet up with a nice young gentleman she had been talking to in class.  He was cute, friendly, and a perfect remedy for her recently ended long-term relationship.  She had tried sloppily talking to him when she arrived, but thanks to the gin and tonics, it was getting pretty difficult to communicate.  In a drunken haze, she had also noticed CuteBoy had been talking up a Freshman that frighteningly resembled  Britney Spears. That called for another shot, or two…. Near ten minutes later, as the cops made their grand entrance, Kristine was diving head first into the (very public) kitchen sink.  Turns out the shots of tequila didn’t agree with her. Between heaving sessions, she looked up at CuteBoy chatting up BritneySpearsGirl. Then, someone dressed up in a cop outfit stepped in front of her hazy view. It took her a moment. “Wait…. what? It’s not Halloween.” And then she ran.  Fast.

Roommate #2 (We will call her “Nicole”)

Nicole was having a great night. She was with a dude she had been dating for a few months, and things were going really well for them.  But, this night in particular (after getting sick in the bathroom, and running away from the cops), her guy took her back to her apartment to sleep. And she took it upon herself to bawl her eyes out and apologize for being so intoxicated. He said it was fine and not to worry, but she insisted it was not… and passed out mid-sentence.  He went home.

Roommate #3 (We will call her “Tiffany”)

When the cops arrived at the party, Tiffany was trapped in the basement.  She made awkward eye contact with a cop as she ran out of the house with red cup in hand. Luckily, her sober friend was there to pick her up.  But alcohol makes you stupid and she ignored the presence of her friend and ran home, alone. Luckily, the cops parked on the street by the house let her go. Fifteen minutes later, after drunk-dialing her crush approximately 80 times, she passed out on the steps of her apartment, 10 feet away from her room.  She later awoke in a puddle of her own drool, collected herself and resorted to the comfort of her own bed.

Roommate #4 (We will call her “Kate”)

This is the most unfortunate story, which is why I have saved it for last.  Kate had been holding hands and receiving free shots from the cutie that lived at the house. And come midnight, it was time to see what his bedroom had to offer. It was fun, for a while, until a cop stormed into the scene, Kate vomited all over the bed (which turned out to be another roommate’s) and she got a ride home from the nice gentleman dressed in the cop outfit. Oh wait, it wasn’t Halloween….

Here come the bad decisions!

As 2009 was coming to a close I vowed that I’d make some big changes for the year to come, namely to act like the adult that I am and not like the rockstar college girl I once was. I told myself I’d drink more responsibly, that I didn’t need to get drunk to have fun, and that I might finally be at the age when dancing on stages is no longer socially acceptable.

And then I found myself making out with my really close guy friend a mere 45 minutes into the new year.

(Well, there’s always next year I guess!)

After we both came to our senses and realized what was going on (aided by another friend walking in, laughing, and taking pictures) we went our separate ways. And by “separate ways,” I mean “to get more booze.”  Word spread that we had gotten a little gropey on his bed and my girlfriends started accosting me. “I’m drunk!” I explained. “It’s not a big deal.”

And they totally understood.

The truth is, we all do dumb things when we’re drinking. It’s part of what makes drinking so much fun! No? Just me? Well, at least the dumb things we do are more understandable. Just ask Jamie Fox. So instead of hiding that ish and pretending you can’t remember it (we’re onto you) why not share it with your friends here at CollegeCandy? Below, the CC writers share their fondest (if not haziest) dumb-drunk moments. Share your own (you know you’ve got plenty!) in the comments section below.

Rosie – Duke: I was at a Passover Seder at the student Jewish center on campus, which I had, of course, pregamed. Throughout the meal I consumed much more Manischewitz, as any good Jew would do. When the rabbi commenced the closing prayers, I kept up my conversation with my giant 6′4″ baseball friend. I said to him “your nose is so big and Jewish” then reached out and grabbed it. I guess I squeezed a bit too hard because it began to bleed everywhere. I started laughing hysterically and was asked to leave the service since I couldn’t control myself. I was receiving weekly emails from the Jewish center prior to that but have not received one since.

Ness – Sheridan: Two words: topless Twister.

Kiki – University of Missouri: Three days after Party in the USA became a sorority girl anthem, I managed to break a ceiling fan while rocking out mid-chorus. Rather than pausing to recognize the electrical carnage, I continued to keep my hands up, since they were playing my song. Nodding my head like yeah, moving my hips like yeah, avoiding light bulb shards like yeah.

Alex – Lakehead University: Last Halloween me and my friend got hammered and ended up puking behind a gas station at 11pm. Here’s the kicker: my very new boyfriend (as in two weeks new!) had to get me home and give me Gravol to stop the hurling. But, he’s still with me!

Arielle – Quinnipiac University: I stuck my entire body out of my friend’s car window while waiting in line at the drive-through and sang (read: screamed) the 7th Heaven theme song for all of the cars waiting in line. I’m still waiting to be signed by a record label …

Kelly – University of Iowa: I told all of my friends that my boyfriend proposed to me (he did, jokingly with an onion ring at the dining hall), and we planned my whole wedding. Not creepy at all.

Thu – USC: I insisted that I wasn’t drunk, but failed miserably at convincing people to believe so. At least that’s how they saw it.

Lauren – University of Michigan: I tried to squat and pee behind a bush and didn’t realize how big of a hill I was on. Needless to say, I lost my balance (heels+skinny jeans+beer pong = disaster) and rolled down the hill…with my pants around my ankles….towards the busy sidewalk where people were en route to parties.

Brithny- Duke: Keggerskating. Sooo fun, but let’s just say it’s not as easy as it seems. Eight wheels and a keg of beer do not mesh well.

Elizabeth – UC Berkeley: I missed my last home football game because I was dancing with some guy wearing a giant watermelon suit.

Noa – CU Boulder: I once came home from a lingerie party and attempted to seduce my R.A. Only when I busted in his room at 1 a.m. he was already in there….with his boyfriend.

Nina – Michigan State University: Apparently I pulled a hotel’s fire alarm while in another country. But when my friends asked me about it right after, I legitimately did not remember pulling the fire alarm, seeing the fire truck outside, nor the firefighters swarming into the hotel as we walked to the nightclubs….

Elise – Stanford: I told one of my best friend’s sisters about her tattoo, which she didn’t know about!

Cristina – Michigan State: I just consider this dumb, not particularly badass, but I was drunk and forced my friend take me to Meijer to return a book. I seriously would not leave her alone until she drove me there. They gave me a few looks but I GOT MY MONEY BACK. EPIC WIN.

Jill – University of Wisconsin: Dropped my phone in a sewer during the biggest block party of the year. Everyone was around me cheering me on trying to get it, the fire department refused to help, and when I FINALLY got it out, the school news paper took my photo. At the moment, I was proud. Now, not so much.

Upon arriving, you say your hellos and shove your way through the crowd to the keg parked in the backyard. You fill your blue Solo cup (“What? They make these things in blue!?”) then meet back up with your friends. You sip, you chat, then you wave your hand violently in the air when the party host asks who’s up for a game of flip cup.

You take your spot at the table, strategically placing yourself next to the very cute boy who lives there. You do a few practice flips, wet the table in front of you a bit for more cup traction and get ready for the game to start.

Seven rounds later, your team is victorious, you and your boy-toy are hugging it out and you’re feeling less than steady. Ok, so you’re drunk, but it’s good drunk. Perfect drunk. The kind that will easily take you through the rest of the night but still leave you feeling a-OK in the morning.

As you begin to walk away from the table to find your friends, the cute boy grabs you.

“Wanna take a shot?” He asks.

“Obvi,” you answer, smitten.

You follow him up to his room where he’s got a bottle of Jameson sitting on top of his mini fridge. As you stand there swaying in your stilettos, your stomach starts churning. You know good and well that you don’t need another shot – especially when it’s brown poison – but you can’t back out now. You don’t want to look like some baby who can’t handle a stupid shot. And you want to make out with him.

The boy grabs two shot glasses from his desk (that undoubtedly haven’t been cleaned since the last time he used them) and starts pouring.

This is a bad idea.
A terrible idea.
This is gonna be ugly.
This night will not end well.

He turns to you. You smile nervously as he hands you your Senor Frogs shot glass.

“Cheers,” he says, raising his Spring Break 2008 double shot glass in the air.

“Cheers,” you reply, silently praying to God that you don’t puke on his carpet.

You throw it back quickly and instantly begin an internal battle with your gag reflex. “Stay down, stay down, stay down….” you tell yourself as you wipe the spillage off your chin. Your throat is burning and your stomach is not happy. But you don’t show it. You smile and joke around with the boy, all the time hoping and praying that Mr. Jameson doesn’t send you over the edge.

You’re doing fine, spitting some serious game, when the shot finally hits you. Suddenly, you’re seeing double and the room is spinning. You have no idea what the boy is saying. You can’t stand up.

“Oh God,” you think to yourself. “This isn’t good. Need water. Need air. I’m gonna be sick. Why did I take that shot? Please God, let me just get through this and I promise I’ll be better next time. Please.”

You excuse yourself to go find your friends, walking into the door on your way out. You grasp the wall on your way down the stairs. “This is bad, this is bad, this is bad,” you tell yourself. When you reach the bottom (safely, thank God), you attempt to find your friends, but it’s nearly impossible to stand let alone navigate through a room of sweaty people grinding. Instead, you take off your shoes, head out of the house and stumble home.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. Over the edge. No turning back. But who’s gonna turn down a free shot?
Not this guy.

As much as I would love to silently judge your drunken mistakes, I can’t help but  laugh it off, talk about you to my friends and hope that I just caught you after you had a horrible week (which is slightly understandable, right?) However, in most cases, I caught you in your element, flashing the party your new bedazzled thong while sloppily trying to climb up on the beer pong table to dance.  Ohh, here we go…

There are a few ways that you can tell you’re “that mess” the entire party is talking about (but you can’t hear because you’re busy screaming the lyrics of “If You Seek Amy”).

- Dancing with your arms above your head…to every song…on a table.
- Tossing your cookies on people or just barely before reaching the bathroom.
- Falling down (or even up) the stairs in front of everyone.
- Crying over…literally anything and everything
- “Oh my goddd i lovvee you!”
- Not being afraid to make out with that random guy (or girl) for a few pictures.
- Passing out in random places and finding “please insert here” with an arrow pointing down on your stomach when you wake up.
- Slowly disrobing at a rate of… every five minutes or less.
- Finding yourself hugging the toilet bowl at the end of the night tighter than when you hugged your teddy bear a decade earlier

Well, home girl, don’t sweat your already smeared makeup off, because I’m not criticizing!  This letter is for you drunkies who have taught me many valuable lessons from you’re absolutely annihilated nights.  After much observing of your dazed decisions, I don’t want to say “WTF is wrong with you!?” What I really want to say is Thanks.

Thanks for making me look so much better, mature, put together, and all around sexy while standing next to your drunk ass.

Thanks for being brave enough to steal that 40 oz. from the fridge, and then dumb enough to hand it over to me, FO’ FREE!

Thanks for running down the street screaming with just a tank top and jeans on (in 30 degree weather), allowing the cops to easily spot and tackle you before they get to me.

Thanks for leaving your jacket at the party. I love my new fleece!

Thanks for passing out in the bathroom so I could start flirting with the guy you were falling all over all night.

Thanks for drunkenly opening a tab and offering free drinks to everyone standing around you.

Thanks for giving me and my friends something to laugh at that night, and days later.

But most importantly, Thanks for teaching me how NOT to act at a party.