You're not in high school anymore, and we all know what that means: the beginning of your bisexuality, the demise of your liver, and a four year supply of Adderall, compliments of the campus counseling center.
That's right; you're a big boy now even if that's not what your ex-girlfriend told you. (But what the fuck does she know, anyway? Prom was her first time!)
Thanks to a list we found at Weeno.com (Megan thought it was gay porn), we got the great idea to share our sexpertise with freshmen nationwide. However, in order to sexplain college life properly, we had to make a few modifications:
1.) No one's going to tell you what to do anymore except your RA, professors, teaching assistants and oh yeah your parents.
2.) Your professors aren't going to remind you constantly of important dates it's up to YOU to realize if you've missed your period three months in a row.
3.) Don't be afraid to ask questions. It's better to ask a dumb question ("Hey, can my roommate watch?") and look stupid for a second than totally screw up and have people KNOW you're stupid ("Um, is that a tripod in your closet or are you just happy to see me?").
4.) Your advisor is smart; he or she knows what they're doing. So if you're a virgin, turn to their expertise (their health insurance sucks, this is their only "benefit"). Keep in mind, however, advisors aren't God. Which is a relief, who wants to f**k the Lord Almighty anyway? (j/k, Jesus! LOL!)
5.) It's ok that you don't know what you want to do. It's ok to change positions even upperclassmen have trouble choosing between The Italian Chandelier and The Wife of Indra. Just don't make uninformed decisions, buy your copy of the Kama Sutra in the campus bookstore today!
6.) BALANCE!!!!!! It should be your mantra
You can always socialize later, but you need to know how to fuck standing up RIGHT NOW.
7.) This is the time of your life that will define who you are and always keep in mind that you are what you eat.
8.) Don't forget to call home to mom and dad; the checks will keep coming and so will you (or at least you'll be able to pay back the prostitute you picked up outside the engineering building).
If you or anyone you know now believes that Molly and Megan have just earned themselves a spot in the seventh and final layer of the Inferno (and we're not talking MTV), send us an e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org (although, in the words of Molly, "Dante didn't know shit").