Universities are a magical place where young, aspiring individuals come to encumber crippling debt and pursue a higher education. While college students spend most of their time kissing up to professors and bumming study guides from one another, the true college experience can be summed up in three words: booze, boys and breakups. In an age of hookup apps and evenings fueled by Four Lokos, strings are never attached and friends always have benefits.
Just as drinking leads to an inevitable hangover, boys lead to inevitable heartbreak. I started sophomore year with a large Dutch in one hand and a frat boy holding the other. I met my boyfriend at the first frat party of the year and despite my usual “process” I slept with him the first night. We studied together, partied together and even got down and dirty together behind the stacks on the third floor of the Knight library. He told me I was pretty so I ignored the obvious reality that he was doing the same with other girls. As our relationship progressed, he continued to lie and I continued to forgive him. He turned me against my friends, but blinded by the glory of the life of a frat groupie, I let him. Good, consistent sex can do that to a girl.
Then on the night of this frat’s Winter LITmas party, I was shocked when I found myself thrown under the mistletoe with Jack’s roommate. Unsurprisingly, Jack blamed me and after throwing around some very profane insults, hasn’t talked to me since. After a few days of Rom-Coms and wine nights, I pulled myself together. I gave myself a trendy, new haircut in the second floor bathroom of our sorority house, lowered my standards and slept around before coming to the realization that the only way to thrive in a world of fuckboys and sleazy roommates was to live like one of the boys. Thus began the promiscuous dawning of a good girl gone bad.