I Love pizza. With a capital “L”.

There is nothing better than a crispy crust smothered in hot, gooey cheese. Add some grilled onions and mushrooms and I am dunzo.

The only thing better than a slice of pizza, actually, is an entire pie a slice of pizza after a night of drinking.

Yes, like unattractive guys and all songs written and produced in the 80’s, my love for pizza grows immensely when alcohol is involved.

It is like I am one of Pavlov’s dogs; the minute I taste beer, I start drooling for a slice of pie.

My cravings only grow more severe as the night progresses. With every downed shot I imagine my date with my precious pizza pie. So, when the opportunity finally presents itself, I go to town without any thought given to potential collateral damage.

Like my tongue, for instance.
Or the roof of my mouth.

What? Like you could wait the 20 minutes it takes to get home, the 10 minutes it takes to decide what delectable toppings/debate the need for a side of cheesy breadsticks, and the 35 minutes to actually get the pizza and NOT dive right in the minute it arrives? Read More »

Not so long ago, in a fantasyland far, far away called College, I was your average little freshman, running around wide-eyed and ready to meet as many college boys as possible. And, because I went Greek, I pretty much had to find some unsuspecting (i.e., completely suspecting) frat boy to accompany me to winter semiformal.

Somehow, I found the one non-douchey frat boy ever to exist. He was perfect: tall, dark, and beautiful, with a 4.0, perfect teeth, a lot of cute friends, and - the kicker—a self-pact to not drink until he was 21. Which meant there would be no pre-game, just… game. And I had none, because he was that hot.

I’m not entirely sure why he said yes, and I’m not sure why I thought I was even cool enough to ask this guy out, but somehow the transaction occurred and there we were, sitting, soberly, talking for two hours while my friends drunkenly danced and ran around. Ever the gentleman, he took me to pseudo-dinner at 2:30 AM, got his leftovers wrapped and then drove me back to my dorm. And so it was time to say goodnight.

Ever the self-conscious one, I assumed that he wasn’t interested, but had put on a happy face so as not to crush my little freshman dreams. And just as I went to kiss him on the cheek, his mouth landed fully on mine. I was shocked. He hadn’t tried to make a move all night!

So clearly, the normal reaction is to kiss right back and linger a little longer, possibly suggest you get a tour of his house, etc. But no, rather than being caught up in the moment I said, “MUAH.”

Yes. That’s right. Right after he makes his move, the first thing that my body, which must hate me, does, is pucker right back up and say “MUAH.” Read More »

Dear Friends/Family/That Random Taxi Driver That Picked Me Up and Took Me Home After Finding Me Face First On The Sidewalk,

Sometimes I like to drink. A lot. And on those occasions I may or may not (okay, always) do stupid things. It is not me, you see; it is the alcohol. In fact, it is not until the morning after when I am chugging Gatorade and trying to get my bed to stop spinning that I even realize exactly what went down. And I feel bad – really, I do. So, I want to take this opportunity to apologize for it all.

To The Bartender: I am sorry that I hopped over the bar and drank beer directly from the tap. And attempted to spray my friends with Tonic Water. And knocked over that giant stack of glasses….

To My Best Friend: I am sorry that I bit your hand when you tried to take my falafel away from me. Yes, I know I said we would share. I am also sorry that I stole your shoe…and drank a beer out of it. And that I peed in your garbage can. Oh, wait. That was your sock drawer? My bad.

To My Friends: I am sorry that I called your girlfriend “Gorilla”…to her face (but I am more sorry that you are dating such a mess). Sorry that I brought that random dude back to the apartment and accidentally took him to your room. I will wash your sheets…and rug. Oh, and your teddy bear. Read More »

Last week, I warned you that the grad school application process is quite a time consuming effort. Well guess what folks? You’re going to need to put ample time into choosing your prospective grad schools too! Sure, this might seem a bit obvious, but this columnist doesn’t always think things through.

For me, grad school was a roll of the dice, and six possible schools came up for me: Georgetown, Rutgers, Ohio State, North Carolina State, San Francisco State, and the school I eventually chose, hereafter refered to as X University.I chose these schools on a whim. Georgetown was my “reach,” and the closest I could get to Ivy League while maintaining a glimmer of hope for acceptance. Rutgers was relatively close to my hometown (by close I mean a 5 hour drive); Ohio State is a party school notorious for it’s tailgating parties (I swear, that’s why I applied- don’t judge); North Carolina State was an hour from my only other friend attending grad school; and San Francisco just seemed like a cool city to live in, as did the location of X University.

Rule number one in choosing grad school? Don’t be superficial when planning your future! Read More »

School is almost back in session. Time to pack your bags, kiss your parents goodbye and head back up to the land of beer, boys and late night dance parties with your friends. Oh yeah; and learning.

Before you hit the party scene in search of that take-home hottie – or after-a-few-beers hottie – let me impart a little advice. There is no reason anyone else should make the same mistakes I did.

1. Lock Your Door: After moving into our phat new pad my junior year, my 7 roommates and I decided to throw a Welcome Week fiesta. During the evening, I met a boy and invited him back to my room to check out my brand new bed. We ended up giving it a test drive; clothes were strewn around the room and things started getting heavy.

I was getting ready to go downtown when the lights switched on and my roommate was standing in my doorway with a few friends she was showing around our new house. If that wasn’t awkward enough, on the way out one of them yelled, “Lauren! Did you lose weight? You look really skinny!”

2. Get the Guy’s Name: After celebrating the end of exams I hit the bar (hard) and eyed a cute boy across the room. I took him home, had my fun and he ended up staying over until the morning. Being the nice girl that I am, I offered to drive him home. Being the drunken idiot that I am, I forgot his name. As he went to leave my car he asked for my number and offered to give me his.

I didn’t want to ask for his name so I told him I was too drunk to type in the number. “But you just drove me home.” Talk about an uncomfortable silence. He got out of the car and never called. Read More »

Starting college is arguably the best thing ever. So many new people, new classes, new ideas—it’s like an ocean of new things that you can’t wait to experience. It’s awesome.

But with all these new, exciting things, you are bound to get caught up in the fervor of college before you realize—FUCK, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, I’ve screwed up. Fuck, I am sooo stupid.

Which is why, my dears, I am going to tell you all the things that made me drop the f-bomb time after time in hopes that perhaps you can learn from my many, many mistakes:

Don’t drink the punch. Read More »