Names have been changed to protect the innocent, the guilty, and the bad kissers.
Year: 2014
Major: English
Nationality: Irish (mostly)
Fun Fact: I really need to stop doing these fun facts…
One thing I always wonder is where do all the tears go.
When my tears evaporate do they float up into the sky and become raindrops and knock down the roof above Todd’s head? Were my tears his tears at some point? It’s funny to think about. The life of a tear.
This story takes place in early February about two or three weeks after the Evan incident. I’d just started thinking about my ex-boyfriend Todd again but of course was too chicken to actually do anything about it - our breakup, though passive-aggressively mutual, had been disorganized and after even half a year of being broken up you just don’t forget a guy who used to finish your sentences for you. He was miles away going to a university down south and I hadn’t spoken a word to him since I awkwardly left him at Ann Van park back in June 2010 after we parted ways (except for a quick “hey do you want your sweatshirt back” text to which he eloquently responded “no”). Still, some people are hard to forget.
Then again, some people aren’t, and Luke would be a prime example of someone not worth the neurons. Sometimes people let you down. They’re not who you think they are, or who you want them to be. You go through your life meeting people and everyone’s just a face, a shadow sitting next to you on the bus, a shoulder nudge in a crowded basement or a wink across an empty dance floor. More often than not you fail to acknowledge the people who truly change you. But Luke was a little more complicated than that.
Year: 2012
Major: Political Science
Nationality: er…white?
Fun Fact: He tried asking me out using memes. In theory it was cute, but not very well executed. Still, give the poor man a high five.
You know how there’s always that one guy in your life you’re just not supposed to ever kiss because he’s totally off limits? Sometimes it’s because he dated your best friend, or because he hates Harry Potter, or maybe because he picked his nose in front of you one time and ate it. I don’t know, it could be anything. In Evan’s case, it was none of those things, thank God, but unfortunately it was something worse. In fact, my hesitance to kiss him was manifested in what was quite likely the worst reason possible: he was in love with me.
Year: 2014
Major: Biomedical Engineering
Nationality: Indian
Fun facts: I don’t remember this guy being particularly fun, just fun to look at…
I met Taj in the basement of Dylan’s frat house, actually…small world, eh? He was a great guy: cute, funny, smart. But meeting him was a mistake, and let me tell you why. He was one of those guys you don’t believe is real at first. A life ruiner. A guy that you secretly hope you’ll never meet in your whole life, not ever, because once do you’ll forever have impossibly high standards about men and will thus be alone for the rest of your life.
So Taj? Yeah. Ruined my life.
AnonymousYes I still am :) I’m actually working on an entry right now, but I have been distracted as of late because of work. I just moved into my dorm today though, so I’ll have some down time!
Year: 2012
Major: Secondary Education
Nationality: Italian
Fun facts: He told me he was studying law at NYU, but after he added me on Facebook the next day I saw that he was actually a student at The College of New Jersey. Nice one, Matt, nice one.
I don’t have many good things to say about Matteo because he didn’t have many good things to say to me, so forgive me in advance for making this a negative post, but there’s only so much I can write about a two-dimensional spineless mudpit. Whoops, did I just go right ahead and type that on my blog? Well, fuck it, can’t help what’s true.
Sometimes I forget that Matteo ever even existed, because the story seems so preposterous that I still have trouble believing it happened — it’s difficult to believe that someone could actually be that conceited and vain. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if my neurons were rewiring my memories as we speak. GO FORTH, NEURONS! HELP ME FORGET THIS PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING, EVEN THOUGH HE ALREADY TOOK THE LIBERTY OF DELETING ME FROM FACEBOOK JUST BECAUSE I WOULDN’T SLEEP WITH HIM.
Year: 2014
Major: Journalism and Media Studies
Nationality: Italian
Fun facts: At Rutgersfest, he and my friend Kayla knowingly gave me a bottle of pure vodka when I’d specifically asked them for water. Chugging that ended badly…
Some nights at Rutgers go off without a hitch. You end up at the party within ten or twenty minutes of walking, there’s plenty of beer when you get there, and everyone’s a friendly drunk. Other nights? Other nights you end up walking for what seems like hours only to find that the party is full, was shut down by the cops hours ago, or is otherwise completely dry.
This particular Thursday night was one of those super rare nights when all hope seemed lost until we inadvertently passed by what appeared to be the single greatest party ever in the history of the planet. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but after spending an hour trudging along College Avenue, finding this party was like finding a solitary Dos Equis bottle in a mini-fridge full of shitty Keystone Light. As far as I was concerned we were a group of dehydrated desert travelers on the verge of heat stroke, and we’d just found our oasis.
Year: 2013
Major: Hm, I knew the answer to this at one point…
Nationality: Japanese/Filipino
Fun facts: He helped me get into his frat’s highlighter party once when the basement was full and they weren’t letting anyone else in…I don’t know, I thought it was pretty nice of him to stick his neck out for me.
The first time I met Jun, I was dressed as a slutty Hogwarts prefect in a short pleated schoolgirl skirt and a Gryffindor tie. In my defense, it was Halloween, and on the Slut-O-Meter I didn’t even come close to competing with the thousands of girls at Rutgers wearing bunny ears and leotards, fishnets and hooker heels, or even just plain old lingerie (“I’m being a Victoria’s Secret model for Halloween! Clever, right?”). But still, my white button-down was barely even buttoned and I kept fidgeting around awkwardly because my skirt was too short. Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve never been too good at first impressions, which should have been obvious from the way I grabbed Jun’s Solo cup of beer and poured half of it into my own just because I was running low and I didn’t feel like walking all the way over to the bar. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Halloween at Rutgers is a beautiful and sacred thing, especially when it comes to the parties. It’s like Christmas, except instead of presents you get a magical red cup good at any frat house on College Ave, and instead of Santa Claus you get to meet people like Dominic Cobb and Zeus and Lady Gaga. Instead of Christmas carols you get a little Afrojack and Ke$ha with the bass threatening to tear your eardrums to shreds, and though there’s no comforting aroma of eggnog or freshly baked sugar cookies, the smell of Keystone Light and jungle juice serve just as well (maybe even better).
Hey guys, so after some thought I’ve decided to go by Charlotte on this blog in the off chance that someone from Rutgers should start reading this and realize who I am! Since Lottie from The Princess and the Frog is pretty much my spirit animal, I thought I’d make a bunch of gifs featuring my role model :)
So here they are! 60 gifs featuring Lottie La Bouff!
AnonymousI was on Livingston campus last year in the quads! I’ll be living on Cook next year in the middle of nowhere.
Year: Sophomore
Major: Business…I think?
Nationality: Russian/Puerto Rican
Fun Facts: His favorite color is blue and his biggest fear is failure.
Meeting Dylan was a bit of an accident, and I don’t mean one of those cute “Hey, I met you out of the blue purely by coincidence and look how perfect we are together” kind of accidents that you see all the time in chick flicks…I mean a completely unextraordinary, mediocre accident. Nothing special, I can promise you that.
Our night started out as most nights typically start out at Rutgers University: a group of girls were in my room pregaming our night with endless shots of cheap Smirnoff while simultaneously trying to curl our eyelashes and flat-iron our hair without going blind in the process.
Thank you dear :) The next post should be up tomorrow or so, as soon as I finish editing!
They say it only takes one kiss.
That’s all — just one measly little kiss with Mr. X, and you’ll know if you’re meant to be together for the rest of your lives or just for the next twenty minutes while you wait for the opportune moment to ditch his ass on the dance floor.
It seems implausible that just one kiss could tell you all you need to know about a person, but strange and stupid as it sounds, the theory captivates me. And back in September, it got me thinking. You’d think that at a university with over 15,000 boys, at least one of them would produce a somewhat promising kiss, no?
The way it all started was with Anthony during my second week of college. Things started out the way most drunken college memories start: we met at a party and got to talking, and at the end of the night I let him walk me home. I had sobered up considerably by the time we ended up in front of my dorm building around 3 AM…we sat down on the grass, a sidewalk separating us, and finally, I asked him a question.
“So…what did you expect really, walking me home?”
In my mind, I’d already mapped out the answer to this million-dollar question. A college junior walking home a freshman? My B+ in Psych was enough to tell me that he wanted sex. So I tilted my head to the side a little, trying to read his expression while he stumbled over his words looking for an answer.
His answer came as a shock. “I just wanted you home safe.” Rule number one: if your words are slurred, I believe them. Drunken men tell no lies.
“Oh,” I said. “You didn’t want anything else?”
“Not really,” he managed to say as he held his head in his hands. “Maybe just to get to know you better. I’m sick of just hooking up with girls, you know?”
No, I didn’t know. “Tell me more.”
He sighed and rolled his head upward to look at me. “You’re still a freshman…freshman meat, they call you. You own Rutgers now, and you’ll have fun, but after a while a different girl every night is gonna get old. In the end you’ll realize what you wanted this whole time was something real, like a relationship or some shit.”
His brutal honesty hit me like my Asian mother used to hit me for getting C’s in World History — hard. I was only two weeks into college and already I was getting an important life lesson…from a drunk lacrosse player, no less.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “So, out of curiousity, how many girls have you kissed?”
He paused and squinted his eyes, like he was trying to tally the numbers up in his head or something. Finally after a moment he said nonchalantly, “Sixty-one.”
I wasn’t really shocked. No, more than anything, I felt bad for him. Like, here was this great guy — tall, athletic, funny, smart — and he was nearing the end of his college career with no one to share it with.
I can’t really explain why I did what I did next: I closed the gap between us and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a short but sensual kiss, and I let myself get lost in the moment for a few brief seconds, but I knew the instant my lips met his that he would never be anything special to me. I don’t know how to explain it. Anthony was the first guy I ever kissed without being in a relationship with him first, and I don’t know, the kiss just felt so…bland. Like flat Diet Coke left in the refrigerator too long.
Anyway, I let him spend the night at my place since he seemed kinda down that he’d just upped his smooch count to sixty-two with, alas, still no relationship. He took up three-fourths of my twin-size bed, which actually ended up being pretty cool because it kept me up all night, giving me time to think.
And what I thought about was this: kissing Anthony. I kept replaying it over and over again in my head, trying to figure out what it was about that kiss that just seemed so off. And that’s when those words popped into my head. All it takes is one kiss. And I got this crazy idea — maybe, just maybe, the kiss hadn’t been as stimulating as I’d expected because Anthony and I didn’t have any connection. There was no rush of blood to the head, no giant oversexed heartbeat threatening to pump a cavity straight through my chest. And it got me thinking about old Disney movies too: those magical Disney princess kisses, and I thought, “Well damn it, that’s what I want too.”
So I decided I was going to get my fairy tale ending, even if it meant I was going to have to brave through pulsating crowds of horny teenagers gyrating their hips against each other in a new form of sex; even if it meant I was going to have to wade through puddles of beer in the basement of every frat house on Union Street; even if I had to stumble home drunk nine times out of ten, I was going to find him. The kiss that mattered.
It’d be like kissing frogs trying to find your Prince Charming, I figured. And trust me, Rutgers is full of frogs. A few toads, too.
Well, I guess introductions are necessary at this point. You can call me Charlotte (my real name is irrelevant) and I currently attend Slutgers University, nicknamed as such for obvious reasons. I don’t know if I’d consider myself a slut — sluts are dim, vapid girls who hunt for dick the same way poachers hunt baby seals so they can club them on the head and sell their fur. When I picture a slut, I see the same image in my head every time: fake tan, Uggs, and a tank top three sizes too small tucked into a loincloth-type thing that’s supposed to mildly resemble a skirt.
My approach to men is more of an experiment, but I do admit it’s a fine line. I pick and choose no matter how drunk I am, and I make sure to take mental notes. Every guy is completely different from the guy before him. Sluts aren’t analytical; I am, and I guess that’s the difference. So think of this as a research journal, in which Scientist A kisses Frogs 1, 2, 3, etc… in an attempt to find the one that transforms into a prince.
Well anyway, here’s a collection of all my crazy freshman adventures, because I guess you only live once.
