It’s been said that at Cornell you’re one of three things: (1) practically living together and acting married, (2) sloozing around and hooking up with everyone or (3) holed up in your room with textbooks and video games. Listen, I don’t want to give readers the impression that I’ve been at number two forever or that I’m some Girls Gone Wild face who is naïve enough to believe that lasting relationships are the products of drunken hookups. I’m smart enough to know that a clumsy booze-soaked introduction will probably never end up a story fondly retold to the grandchildren.

When I came across Cosmo’s Most Creative Sex Positions Ever, I sort of expected Cosmopolitan to deliver. While I shouldn’t have been hoping for much from a women’s magazine whose horoscope promises my sign that “a McDreamy look-alike asks you out” (still waiting, Dempsey), I did half-anticipate some legitimate sex advice that college-aged ladies — Cosmo’s target demographic — might be able to use.

Let’s get one thing straight: I love the guys at Cornell. I adore them. In fact, despite my stories about men in my life that don’t quite do it for me, I get really defensive when girls whine about the crappiness of Cornell dating scene. It especially pisses me off when girls use their precious crossword-adjacent Sun real estate to bitch about how romance has died along with the traditional date.

Memo to you: your life is not a Herman Wouk novel or an Audrey Hepburn movie. Furthermore, the guys you’re surrounded with at Cornell, for the most part, are not awful. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that any time you’re losing faith in them, five minutes of browsing the Craigslist personals section will be enough to snap you right back to reality.

Like those items in my wardrobe that somehow seem to survive each campus relocation and epic closet overhaul despite the fact that I rarely wear them, there are guys in my life that I keep around even though I know they're not quite right. Standing in front of my closet at 8:30 a.m. today, I found myself staring at an entire wardrobe overflowing with nothing to wear and I began to panic.

I lost my virginity at 16. I was too young. I’m sure that makes me seem like a chaste dragon lady nowadays, right? I mean, have you heard these stories about these middle school sloozies getting caught in the bathroom stalls with their Bonne Belle Lipsmackers smeared all over the dongs of 7th grade boys? For shame, baby Lohans, at least wipe off your lip gloss before you get started.

Continued from Mr. Dirty Talker, Your Friendly Neighborhood Stalker (Part 1).

He texts me several times throughout this next week and I respond with something along the lines of “way too busy” and sometimes even “ijm toi drunkj” to mix it up a little bit. He does not relent. To him, I am a perishable good, a limited-time-only offer expiring on the last day of finals. There are no emotions involved here, let me just make this clear. This is just a boy in pursuit of sex.

Let me just offer a small piece of advice to all of you Collegetown residents: in the same way hooking up with a guy on your freshman year floor was a no-no, hooking up with a guy that lives within 500 feet of your house is a poor, poor idea. It seems convenient at the time, doesn't it? Quite lovely that you can walk home from the bars together, kick his ass out at 4 am without the guilt of subjecting him to rain, snow or even a particularly unpleasant walk, huh? If you ever have a hankering for some action on a school night, he's right there.

And yet… no.

I learned this lesson the hard way with Bryan. I share this tale with you, dear readers, so that you can learn from my mistakes. I guess I should back up and explain the commotion and edge-of-your-seat drama that led to this torrid affair.

No, I’m really not. Alright, so I’m living in NYC this summer (aka Camp Cornell) and writing about dating—but that’s it. I do not particularly want or aspire to be a one-dimensional fictional character. Plus, Carrie ended up with Big and ending up with an ex of mine would be like wearing jean shorts in public: something that was desirable once upon a time, but is now completely inappropriate and wrong on so many levels.