My friend and I thought it would be 'cute' if we went to a frat party wearing the same outfit. Everything matched -- the corduroy jackets, the black t-shirts, the blue jeans, the sneakers. This may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but I can assure you that I was self-conscious about it all night long.

About the party: it was lame. There were so many people crammed into a tiny house -- I felt like I was in a marketplace in the streets of some Mexican village.

The highlight of the evening came just as the police did. Some frat guy told the crowd to shut the fuck up because the police had just driven by -- so I impulsively shoved my fake ID down the waist band of my underwear. The sharp discomfort of a New York State ID hovering near my anus was a constant reminder to never go to a frat party again.

Bonus anecdote: This guy that dicked me over a few months ago allegedly got smashed and told my (straight) friend that he (my friend) acted gay. How tactful! Hours later, this guy was discovered in a bathtub, passed out. Dumb bastard.