Laura Wilson

To those of you who are new to the college version of Halloween, allow this to be a cautionary tale because it's nothing like the sugar-drenched nights you spent trick-or-treating as a child. It seems to me that the All-Hallows of high school graduates is merely an excuse for girls to prance around as close to naked as possible while everyone gets trashed beyond compare. Not that there's anything wrong with a little orgy of debauchery once a year, but if you're not prepared, you might wake up Nov. 1 realizing that you don't remember any tricks, let alone treats.

It wasn't long ago that I was a young, somewhat naive freshman who just wanted to get the most from her college experience. As the days grew cool, my thoughts turned to finding the perfect costume and deciding on the perfect party at which I should wear it.

One of my older friends - it's always the older ones who get you into trouble - was dating an even older guy who lived in a house with other even older guys and they were throwing a "mad scientist"-themed Halloween party. Although I've since learned that themed parties are usually a recipe for disaster, there was no way that my 18-year-old self was going to miss the opportunity to rub drunken elbows with people who actually had jobs and other grown-up accoutrements.

Since I was relatively without an income, I decided to make my own costume. I magically turned some wire hangers and silver Mylar into wings, some pipe cleaners into a halo and some old clothes into something that looked like an angel might wear it if all of her heavenly clothes were at the cleaners. What I would later realize was that I was nowhere undressed enough to blend in with the other party guests, and my wings were too wide to fit through doorways.

My costume malfunctions were not going to stop me from having a good time, however. Every time I was offered a drink, I accepted. I had never heard the term "jungle juice" before, but I decided that evening that it was the drink of the gods. Later, I would learn that Everclear is the root of all evil. How could something that tasted so good be so very, very, very mind numbing?

The rest of the evening is a blur, which is where the lesson comes in. From what my friends tell me, I gather that I had a pretty awesome time, at least until I started throwing up. Some versions of the evening have me vomiting on cute older men, while others have me falling asleep in the backseat of the car hours before my friends were ready to go home. The thing is, I'll never know the truth because I made some stupid choices. While my friends laugh about all of the adventures they had that evening, all I really remember is the two days following that I spent tethered to the toilet.

No one expects sobriety from college students, especially on Halloween. However, what's the fun in getting so out of control that you won't remember the fun that you may - or may not - have had?