Look, we all know that drunken stupidity is a problem on college campuses. And we all know that Universities are at risk of being held responsible if something were to go horribly wrong. So it makes sense that schools are constantly coming up with new ways to combat the binge drinking. Except some of their ideas are less than stellar.

The latest “brilliant” plan?

“Student carers,” AKA, sober monitors at The University of Cambridge. Basically, the university will be paying students over $100 a night to babysit a drunk student. You know, kind of like how your friends usually take care of you. Except you don’t get fined for being drunk (unless you consider waking up to find some horribly embarrassing drunk texts to be a fine), or have a stranger holding back your hair and judging you while you puke up the fried Oreos you ate because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It sounds absurd because it is absurd.

We all get that drunk college kids are rowdy and downright obnoxious, but what is some sober sally going to do about it? Stroke their hair until they fall asleep? Force a water bottle and pieces of bread down their throat? What good would that do?

Although it would make for an epic reality TV show, it’s just not right. Not only are college students legal adults who can and should be able to take care of themselves, but this new “scheme” is taking the responsibility off the people who should be looking out for their friends! Now they’re free to – what? – go out and get even more hammered because the too-drunk kid is taken care of? Everyone knows the rule: you come in together you leave together. It’s not: you go in together, I call a babysitter when you get too drunk, then I go home with the hottie from our social science class.

If the University of Cambridge has such a problem with binge drinking, maybe they should try to prevent the cause instead of trying to clean up the effects.

So tell us what you guys think: could this work? Would you want to be a Student Carer? Would you want to be cared for by one?

There are two types of drinkers: The kind that can handle their liquor, and the kind that can’t. The kind of drunk who is the life of the party, and the kind the party wants to punch in the face.

What kind of person are you?

Annoying drunk people…

Feel the need to scream, “Omigod! I’m soooo drunk!” It’s not an Olympic sport. You don’t get a medal if you blow a .20 at the end of the night.

Feel the need to deny their drunkenness. They fall into walls and slur “I’m totally fine!” before they reach for a bottle of Bud Lite/Jager/Windex/anything, to prove that they can handle even more.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by going with the flow and hanging out. No need to announce your current level of intoxication, or how sober you think you are.

Annoying drunk people…

Need to be the center of attention by screaming, dancing on tables, and giving other partygoers a general headache. “We’re going streaking!” is only funny when it’s Will Ferrell.

Can’t help but be the center of attention by getting over-emotional and crying. Extra annoying points when they lock themselves in bathrooms and demand consolation from their best friend for hours, thereby ruining the non-annoying best friend’s night.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by checking your emotional baggage at the door and not using alcohol to combat your life’s problems. Also, don’t use booze as an excuse to prove how wild and uninhibited you are. If you are headed down the attention-whore road, try parking yourself on one bar stool for a night instead of wiping your drunken tears on my new cami and seeing how many people gravitate towards you.

Annoying drunk people…

Need to get laid. No matter what. They think they’re sexy when they whisper sweet nothings into a hottie’s ear, when in reality they are slobbering all over a stranger’s face. Gross. Once rejected, they will probably stumble around the party, trying again. And again. And again.

Will get laid. By anyone. And sometimes everyone. Annoying drunk sex-maniacs will leave their friends behind to go home with a stranger, or swap saliva and other bodily fluids with many people – sometimes even multiple partners in one night. This isn’t classy, or particularly safe.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by putting your friends first, and choosing your partners wisely. There’s nothing wrong with an alcohol-induced makeout sesh once in a while, but you deserve the best, and you should hold out for top shelf lovers instead of going home with the Milwaukee’s Best party guests!

Annoying drunk people…

Leave their morals in the bottom of a shot glass. They steal, vandalize, and start fights. You don’t want to be the person that isn’t invited to the party because your friends think you’re a klepto, and you don’t want to be banned from the bar for cracking pool sticks over your head, or bitch-slapping your peers.

Puke. They will puke on the floor of the bar, in cars, in their beds, their roommates’ beds, and all over themselves. We all have bad nights, drink one too many, and get the spins, but if your friends feel like an invitation to accompany you to a party means signing up to be a hair-holder, your company is going to get old quick.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by knowing your limits, at least to some extent.

If more than one of these annoying drunken traits apply to you, you might want to rethink the boozing. It’s great to unwind and have a good time, but if Jack Daniels transforms you from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, you’re going to alienate your circle of drinking buddies and become the person that the rest of us are pointing and laughing not with, but AT.

Get it? Got it? Good. Want some more? Don’t worry, there are plenty more faves where this came from.

The Host/Hostess

It’s inevitable.  No matter how laid back you think this person is, when they’ve got hoards of drunk people over at their house they’re bound to get a little anal.  Don’t aim the champagne cork at the windows.  Please use a coaster.  Don’t spill beer on the carpet.  No random hookups in the bedrooms.  The dog really shouldn’t be drinking out of wine glasses.  Ugh!

The Hot Mess

They’re slurring.  They’re stumbling.  They’re trying to make out with your boyfriend.  And in about five minutes their face is about to meet your fist.

The Upper

This person LOVES New Year’s Eve.  Wanna hear her resolutions?  Because she’s about to give you a twenty-minute lecture about how this past year she lost 50 lbs and is going for an additional 15 by May.  Do you care?  You effing better.  This is the best party of her life!  Have you ever seen so much hope in one room!?  OMG the countdown is about to start!  Shhhh…SHHHH!!!

The Downer

Life sucks.  New Year’s sucks.  She just got dumped.  The sequins from her dress are digging into her skin.  Her shoes hurt. Her hair is flat.  She doesn’t know anyone here.  She can’t get drunk.  She can’t stand being around so many stupidly happy people.  Can you just take her home?

The Photo Whore

Picture time just happens to be every five minutes when this person’s in attendance.  And we’re not talking innocent candids.  She wants everyone together against the glass doors, tall people in the back, shorter people crouching in the front.  Big smiles!  Look like you mean it.  Be happy, people.  Ok, one…two…three.  She meant on three, guys!  Half of you aren’t even looking.  Now she has to do a redo!  Here we go again…

Thank. God. For. Champagne.

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

The last day of my freshman year of college was a blur. Went to class, took a final (passed?), signed up to donate money to the ASPCA, then went to work. But the last night of freshman year is crystal clear.

I arrived back to the dorms at about midnight, with one thing on my mind: sleep. I know, I know. I’m pretty wild. En route to my room, however, I was accosted by a drunken friend, inviting me in for a drink (or two, or three). There were about six of us in the tiny room, and before we knew it things got pretty out of hand. Attempting to avoid getting written up for noise violations, we left the dorms and went to a party at some campus apartments nearby.

And then things got even more out of hand. No one knew whose alcohol they were drinking, or whose lap they were sitting on. People were crawling back and forth through the windows to go out and smoke or yell at strangers. Before I knew it, I was down about three shots too many and fairly drunk (sh*tfaced, actually).

Remember that blurry day-detail of donating money to the ASPCA? Well, as it turns out the cute guy who asked for my pledge had sneaked my number from my sign up because he thought I was cute too. And, you guessed it, who else should give me a ring at Drunk O’Clock in the morning but ASPCA Guy. “Before you say anything,” he said, “I know this is weird, but I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just got up the guts to call you.” And you know what I said?

“ASPCA guy! You’re so hot and I’m so drunk!” Followed by what I probably will never be able to live down: a full on serenade of– I kid you not– “Barracuda.” He was nice enough to stay on the phone with me while I barraged him with dirty talk (good God…) and other sexual offers and advances. He eventually hung up on me.

In the morning, I double checked with my roommate to confirm that I had indeed sang Heart to the cutest guy I had seen in a while. Unfortunately, she said it actually happened. The worst part was the next night he called back. I was so excited, thinking that maybe he was just going to laugh off the incident and try again.

He was calling to verify my credit card number. Now I have a $20 monthly reminder of my failure. Oh, Barracuda.

So you’re going to be a freshman. Thanks to your advisor/mom/campus tour/Bed Bath and Beyond advertisements, you think you’re ready. You learned how to do laundry, you’ve purchased the Twin XL sheets, you measured your future dorm room (and cried when you realized you could touch all 4 walls from the middle of the room) and all those A.P. classes have prepared you for the workload that comes in college.

Congrats. You now know about 10% of what you need to know to survive freshman year.

The truth is, there is a lot that happens your first year of college that no advisor (and especially not your parental units) is going to know about. And that’s why we’re here – to get you from Welcome Week through final exams in one glorious piece. And to try and stop you from making the same mistakes we did. Again and again.

You wanna survive your first year of college? Avoid any and all of these freshman year faux pas:

1. 8am class.
Despite thinking that 8am really is not that early, there is no way you are actually getting up for this class once you begin to discover that there is potential to party every night of college.  Do yourself a favor and don’t even try. 99% of the time, this class will be offered at another time or another semester. If you have to re-work your entire schedule and eliminate time for lunch between classes, do it. I promise, it’s worth it.

2. Hooking up with an older frat boy…and thinking that he will automatically fall in love with you.
In reality, college boys have been waiting three years to finally be big men on campus and use this status to hit on freshman girls.  Have fun, just try not to get too attached.

3. Puking in Public.
You’re in college.  Great job! This means you have pretty much unlimited access to alcohol.  This does not mean that your tolerance has gone up since high school. While the people around you may be able to slam 10 beers in 10 minutes, it might not be the case for you. Don’t be stupid. And if you are, excuse yourself before you become “girl who puked in her hands.”

4. Skipping Class.
I get it: skipping lecture where there are 300 people and no one takes attendance is tempting. But don’t do it. Lecture notes are incredibly important to your academic success and oftentimes the professor will discuss things that are not in your assigned reading but are in your final exam. Getting to class isn’t hard, so suck it up, bring some snacks and get to it.

5. Showing up to a frat party with male friends.
The rule of frats is simple:  chicks are in, and guys are always going to have to wait.  Do yourself a favor and make your group at least a 2:1 ratio in favor of the female gender.

6. All Sweats, All The Time
Ah, sweatpants. Love ‘em. But despite the comfort they provide (especially after you #3 and you’ve got a #1), they don’t love you back. Between the drunk eating, nasty dorm food, and major beer calories, you will gain weight. And without the guide that only a non-elastic waistband can provide, you’ll never know it. Put on some jeans once in awhile.

7.  Overdressing in theme.
Theme parties are great, but remember that as a freshman, you will likely be party hopping (especially if you mess up on #4 and can’t get in to the party you dressed for).  Don’t go all out for a “CEO and Corporate Hoes” party unless you plan to stay there all night.  Otherwise you may end up wearing a bra and a pencil skirt at an ’80s party, and that’s just not cool.

8. Spending all of your time video chatting.
While your home friends are great, so are the people at college!  Branch out, and learn to put away your Skype for some real person time so that you actually make new friends.  While a little bit of homesickness is normal, a relationship with your computer is not.

9. Winging an Exam.
If you did fine in high school not studying, good job.  That’s not how it works here.  Even those of us who do study can’t always make the grades, so don’t hurt yourself before you even take the exam. This is what you’re here for, after all.

10. Drunk Dialing Your Parents
It’s funny at the moment, but no one’s laughing the next morning when your mom calls at 9am and gives you “the talk.”

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.