I had survived all the pitfalls of freshman year--the biggest being my long distance bf, until...

It was the end of my freshman year and I had four days left in the fabulous city of New Orleans. I had survived the trials and tribulations all freshmen chicks face: bigger butts, finals, puking at frat parties, and yes - the dreaded long distance boyfriend! Christopher and I had been together for about two years, half of it with him in Michigan and me in Louisiana. I was proud of myself. I had resisted chasing all the hotties, called Christopher every night, and spent every last dime flying up to see him. I was good, and he was good - it was all good! Four days left and, sigh, we have that BIG fight.

So I go out with a friend of mine from class, Jill. I know her fairly well, but we aren't the closest of friends. She invites me to meet up with a few of her friends at a townie bar uptown. We head straight to the bar, where I proceed to pour my heart out to Jill - who comforts me with a countless number of shots. I leave Jill because, for some strange reason, I now just wanna dance!

I come back to find that Jill's blondie gal pals have arrived. She introduces me to Wendy, Angie, and I missed the third blondie's name. They wanted to dance and so did I. Screw Christopher, I've got a blond posse and a never-ending supply of vodka!

By the time the classic 80's rock stopped blaring, I was beyond wasted, legally insane. Blondie #3 came over to me to organize a post-bar party. Since there was no more music, I could actually hear blondie #3. And the lights were up, so I could see blondie #3. Yeah, blondie #3 was definitely not the woman I thought she was; his name was Jonathon. Jonathon was the first transvestite I'd ever seen, ever talked to, and ever partied with. In my drunken stupor, I screamed “Oh my god! You’re a dude, dude!” Everyone laughed, I fell off my stool and they carried me to Jonathon's little red Miata.

I was trying not to vomit as Jonathon sped down the pothole-infested road to wherever we were going. He/she blasted Whitney Houston's "Heartbreak Hotel” and I got my second wind (Whit may be on crack, but she sure can inspire a drunken freshman). We ended up at some shady bar near Loyola, where our drunken clan became a quick target for sleazy guys. I was soon using some shortie Loyola guy as a cane, and he seemed to have no problem with my state of insanity.

Who knows how long we were there, who even knows how much more I drank. What I do know is that I couldn't even remember Christopher's name, let alone say it at that point. I was having fun and felt invincible and carefree. Jonathon brought me and Jill and two Loyola shorties back to her/his place. Somehow Jill was drunker than me, and I spent the car-ride holding her hair back— thank god for convertibles. We pull up to Big Jonathon's little apartment and our Loyola boys carried me and Jill inside, behind the amazingly sober Jonathon. So begins the weirdest scene I can (kind of) remember...

Red lights and shag carpeting - a smoke-filled kitchen - candles in the bathroom - lots of pink - Patrick Swayze posters - everywhere! Jonathon and I had bonded at this point, and he felt comfortable answering all my questions about drag queens and thong underwear. Did I mention he did this while I watched him shave his legs in the pink, candle-lit bathroom? Not at all weird to me then: fabulous vodka! I wanted to call Christopher, to tell him how mad I was at him; why was I mad at him again? And why did Jill just pee on the kitchen floor? The Loyola boys laughed, which made drunken Jill cry...though the laughing stopped once Jonathon, dressed as Jonathon, came out screeching. Then the Loyola boys started screeching. Then I started screaming at them to stop screaming. Jill was crying about how she ruined her shoes or something. It was chaos, and I started to wake up and realize how weird this moment was…

Everyone calmed down eventually after the initial shock wore off...though we couldn't get the Loyola boys to sit next to Jonathon on the couch. I guess something like that is kind of traumatizing to a guy. I needed something normal at that point and I went into the other room to look for a phone. I needed to call Christopher. I guess I didn't make it that far, because I woke up on the floor. And lo and behold - Loyola boy was kissing me! What? I was kissing him! On the floor, in a transvestite's room - with green shag carpeting; 4 days before I go home to Christopher! What am I doing?

Freaking out, I was too drunk to push Loyola boy off. (BTW, I call him Loyola boy because I have no idea what the hell his name is!) He wasn’t trying to grope me really, just kiss me. How sweet and innocent, huh?

What seemed like an eternity with what's-his-face sucking my bottom lip, Jonathon stumbles in, giggles, and says Jill wants to go. Oh yeah, Jill. I forgot about drunken, pee-soaked Jill and my long-distance boyfriend of two years; who else can I screw over?

Jonathon gives Jill a pair of boxers to wear home, and forces me to chug a gallon of water before he escorts us home in his lil' red Miata. This time the potholes were too much and I puke all over the trunk. Sorry Jonathon!

In my drunken, shocked, and puking state, I didn't realize Loyola boy crammed into the back seat with us. I also didn't realize he helped me out of the car and into my dorm. I didn't know he came in my room until the next morning when I awoke to find vomit (ew) and him (big ew) in my bed. I didn't have the strength to scream or ask him why the hell he was there or what the hell happened last night. I only had the strength to drag myself to the bathroom. I climbed into the shower, laid on the floor and let the water pound the alcohol out of my body. I must have been in there for about an hour; threw up a few times, and I felt better…until I thought about Christopher. I kissed that boy and who knows what else last night! He's in my bed! I threw up again. What the hell am I going to say to Christopher? Should I say anything to Christopher? I decided to never say anything to him about this. I was drunk; we were fighting. 4 DAYS LEFT!

I open my door and Loyola boy is on the phone--on my phone, in my room, in MY bed! I overhear him asking his friend for a ride home, thank god! I guess there was a call on the other line, because he said "Hold on...Hullo?" I could hear the scream from across the room - it was Christopher, crystal clear - yelling "Who the f*%^k are you!"

I told him the whole story. He never spoke to me again. Couldya blame him? 4 Days left!

Whoops!