I love it when universities appreciate the modern college student: we wake up early, we work all day, we study hard, and we sleep late. Oh, and we like to party. Maybe not exactly like they do on Jersey Shore, but we party nonetheless.
During the summer before my senior year, I obtained the holy grail of unpaid internships: working the green room for a popular late-night talk show. Sure, I was sans-paycheck and super poor, but hanging out with SJP right before the release of the first Sex and the City movie was completely amazing.
After a lot of internal debate and a few pro-con lists (and one venn diagram), I made the decision not to rush. So the night before rush began, I went out with a friend, tried on my first pair of beer goggles, and went home with David.
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 fell in love with Danny my freshman year of college when he dressed up as a sexy pterodactyl on Halloween. We lived on the same floor freshman year and I always went out of my way to run into him in the hallway.
I’ve come to learn two fundamental truths this week: the happy hour does not exist, and breaking and entering is easier than it looks. I'm serious.
You slowly open your eyes. It feels like your mouth is filled with cotton balls, you start frantically grabbing for water. But - ouch - there is a bruise on your left arm the size of K-Fed's gut. You're still wearing the clothes from last night and suddenly images of a boy pop into your hazy mind. You feel the warmth of a body beside you in your bed. Then you remember.
When it came to house parties, my roommates and I pulled out all the stops. We wanted our soirees to stand out and be memorable so we always chose a theme. We threw a bat mitzvah party for my non Jewish roommate’s 19th birthday. We had a costume parties. We had a Jell-o wrestling tournament. And when winter set in, we asked everyone to come over for a cocktail party.
I think we can all agree that it's exciting when you run into someone wearing your university's logo/mascot/colors when you're far away from campus. You instantly wanna give them a "Go [insert team name here]!" before high fiving them and talking about all the wonderful things you have in common.
Apparently ridiculous college courses are the new trend on campuses all over the world. I’d go so far as to call them “unnecessary,” but the 440 people who just enrolled in Potsdam University’s e-mail flirtation class would beat down my door (or fill my inbox...) in disagreement. Yes, you read that right- one German university is actually offering a master’s course on how to flirt via modern technology.
I was in a new college town and my roommate just got her fake ID in the mail. Coincidentally, I had also just told my ex I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I needed to stop thinking about him all the time if we weren’t going to be together. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.
While you're busy busting out A+'s and making new friends in college, it's always really nice to go home for a weekend. And that is especially true during your freshman year when home friends routinely have elaborate parties where people drunkenly reunite.
Every time my roommates and I have a party we tape our kitchen cabinets shut, empty out the fridge and hide all of our food in our locked rooms. We want to protect ourselves from those random drunk idiots that may come through and steal everyone's sh*t, eat all their food and make a big mess.
The summer after I graduated from high school I was excited to finally be free from compulsory family vacays to celebrate the 4th of July. So to celebrate both America’s and my own newfound independence, I went big, I went all out – I went to a house party.
Last weekend I went to my friend's birthday at one of those exclusive NYC clubs where you can't get in if you're not on a list. My friends and I got decked out for a big night on the town, which meant I put on a really short dress, slipped on my big practically-unwalkable heels, and shaved my legs.